Old Friends
by Deltree
Summary: All human AU. Spander. An exhausted Spike shows up at Giles' house looking for a place to stay and desperate for money. He won't say anything about what happened to him during his years as a runaway. But then Buffy meets Spike's old friend Angel.
1. Prologue: The Early Days

Title: Old Friends

Warnings: All Human AU, slash, mentions and memories of abuse, violence, illness, and sexual situations.

Pairings: Spike/Xander, Buffy/Angel, Willow/Tara, Angel/Spike/Dru

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

Prologue: The Early Days

-

_The London Press—pg.8_

_Hospitalized three months prior at the private hospital of Hancourd Medical, Margaret Elise Mathers, first born daughter to Reginald and Christine Giles of the highly esteemed family Giles, died of leukemia at exactly 5:23 AM on April 22, 1988. _

_May she find eternal peace and happiness in the loving arms of our Lord and Father. _

_-_

June 27, 1988—two months later.

Enjoying poetry and books in the place of football and pranks, and preferring time spent with an ailing mother over wrestling in the mud with the other boys, 11yr old William Augustus Mathers was considered rather odd by his peers.

This didn't much matter to him though. Frankly, he considered those very same peers to be particularly dirty little heathens. He, with his books and good manners, was simply far too mature for their stupid schoolyard games. He didn't need them at all, really. His life was much better spent alone.

William turned the page of his book with a small sniffle. Yes. Alone. That was the ticket, he thought, pushing his glasses up with a finger and forcing back the tears that were threatening to form. He was much better off alone.

Sitting in one of the window seats of his father's small estate situated just outside London, William was trying to read one of the latest novels from his favorite author. It was from a series, centered on the knight's of old and their grand heroic adventures. Fighting dragons, saving beautiful princesses, winning duels of honor, and everyone always, _always_, got a happy ending.

He loved those kinds of stories. When he had been younger he would even play that he was a knight, wearing shiny armor and swinging his mighty sword, running off to the rescue of anyone in need. Uncle Rupert would usually play the fire-breathing dragon, or sometimes the evil wizard. He was really good at that, making the absolute best growls and snarls. And Mum . . . . Here had to swallow, having stupidly forgotten for a moment, and steeled himself to complete the memory—Mum would always be the beautiful princess he would go through death-defying trials to save. Sometimes she'd even give him fresh biscuits for a job well done . . .

Looking down at his book miserably, William sighed, one tear managing to fall slowly down his cheek. Guess he wouldn't be getting any more of those biscuits.

Suddenly not interested in reading, William wiped his eyes with his sleeve and hopped down from his seat. First traveling to his room to put the book away, he then decided that he could use a bite to eat, and began to make his way toward the kitchen.

"I can not _believe_ that you would—

"He is my son and as such it is my responsibility to shield him from any of the negative influences he may so encounter."

Hearing the sound of angry voices, William paused before passing by the next doorway, peeking inside to see Father and Uncle Rupert facing off in the center of the sitting room. Scolding himself heavily for his rudeness, he, nevertheless, stayed to watch.

Uncle Rupert narrowed his eyes at his father, looking angrier than William had ever seen. "And I'm one of these so-called negative influences?"

Father sneered, "Do not think that the tales of younger years could have escaped my hearing."

"Then you would also know that those times are far behind me."

"It doesn't matter," Father waved him off, "Either way you are simply far too dangerous to be allowed around my child. I don't want you coming here again."

From where he stood just outside the door, William drew back in horrified denial, not even realizing as he spoke, "No . . ."

Uncle Rupert looked increasingly frustrated. "For God's sake, David, the boy has just lost his mother. I'm his _uncle_. You can't just—

"I think you will find that I can," Father said, his contempt openly shown, "And, really, Rupert. You have a good job across the city. Surely, you could do something better with your time."

"And what will you do?" Uncle Rupert asked, ignoring the jab, "Who will take care of William over the school holidays when you've locked yourself in your bloody office again?"

"A nanny, of course."

"David. The boy's _eleven_."

"Fine," Father said, obviously beginning to tire of the subject, "Then he can simply take care of himself."

"What? _No_. You can't—

"Rupert," Father interrupted, "The decision has already been made. I suggest that you leave quietly before I decide to involve the authorities."

A pause, staring at each other, the two men waged a silent battle of wills. But the battle could really only have one winner.

"Fine," defeated, Uncle Rupert dropped his indignant fighting stance with a tired sigh, shaking his head in regret. "I'll leave. Just . . . just give me some time to say good-bye to the boy, will you?"

A nod and Uncle Rupert turned to the door, seemingly intent on saying his good-byes immediately.

William blinked stupidly for a moment, luckily coming quickly back to his senses, and he turned to run hastily back the way he came. He tried to be quiet as he did so, of course, because he really couldn't deal with the usual reprimand right then. Finally turning the final corner, he slipped through the door to his bedroom and took up his previously discarded book, sitting back in his bed to stare blankly at the words in an imitation of reading.

And, as he waited, trying mightily to act as though he had always been there, he thought.

The conversation between his father and his uncle replaying in his head, William tried to ignore the possibility that any of it could be true. That conversation could not have actually happened. Those words could not have been spoken. Uncle Rupert wasn't leaving. He couldn't be. William honestly didn't think he could handle the loss of the one remaining person in this world that cared for him. And Father knew that.

Yes, he assured himself. Father knew that. Father wouldn't knowingly do anything to hurt him. William must have just imagined the entire conversation. How silly of him.

Less than a half hour passed and William still sat on his bed, the book at his side and left with only a phone-number, the promise of help, and the concrete knowledge that Father really was a cruel bastard.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Ch1: The Doorbell

All Human AU

Title: Old Friends

Warnings: All Human AU, slash, mentions and memories of abuse, violence, illness, and sexual situations.

Pairings: Spike/Xander, Buffy/Angel, Willow/Tara, Angel/Spike/Dru

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

--

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Chapter #1: The Doorbell

-

If Willow could name her favorite time of the week, she would have to say Sunday afternoons.

Cuddling with her girlfriend on Giles' comfy couch, Xander laughing at Buffy and her evermore problems with men, watching Giles sputter and blush at some inappropriate comment of Anya's, and eating cookies as music played softly in the background. It was as close to perfect and a home as she had ever been.

She and Xander had been best-friends since kindergarten, meeting Buffy and Giles in their sophomore year of high school. Willow had always been a geek, loving books and learning new things, so she had always spent a good deal of time in the school library, dragging Xander along with her. Sophomore year, Buffy transferred to Sunnydale High from Los Angeles and Mr. Giles was hired to replace the previous librarian, who had retired. Originally coming to Willow for study help, Buffy became fast friends with both Willow and Xander. And, as the three teenagers had taken to having their study sessions in the library, they had all quickly grown to like Mr. Giles. Eventually, it simply became habit to meet in the library, and to, at times, stay there hours after school's end doing homework, hanging out, and avoiding home.

When high school had ended, Willow had been devastated at the thought that her friendships with these people would be over. That she and Buffy would go to college and drift apart, that Xander would become too busy with work and the real world, and that Giles would simply grow tired of them and leave. Without the library none of them would have any reason to stay close.

But then everything began to happen.

Giles, having lost his job in the school bombing, opened The Magic Box and then went through a mid-life crisis. Buffy floundered in college, and then met and was used by that bastard Parker Abrahams. Xander continued to lose job after job and found himself unable to move out of his parent's house. Oz, Willow's boyfriend of two years, left her to travel around the country with his band, and then she met Tara and started the fight with her bisexuality.

They had needed each other and so, thankfully, the small group of friends had been kept together.

They had lost two members, Oz and Xander's ex-girlfriend Cordelia, but they had also gained two more, Tara and Anya. And Willow privately thought that Anya, with her blunt attitude and greedy ways, was a major improvement on Cordelia.

It soon became a habit, a ritual, to meet in Giles' living room every Sunday afternoon under the pretense of coming for tea and cookies. This way, even with everyone's busy and conflicting schedules, they could see each other once a week. And the meetings, many times lasting long into the night, had proved to be a chance to unwind and emotionally prepare for the next week.

Having grabbed yet another cookie from the tray on the coffee table, Buffy looked up at Giles as she settled back into her seat on the couch. "Do you think we can change the music to something with a little more, you know, music?"

Giles looked up from his embarrassed cleaning of his glasses, having been trying to stop Anya from asking him advice on her sex life. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with my music. And you are not playing that-that noise in my home."

"Oh come on G-man." Xander said as he yawned and stretched in the reclining chair, "I'm falling asleep here. I need some of that loud meaningless noise to wake me up."

"Yes, but your definition of loud and mine have proven to be very different. I happen to enjoy being able to hear."

Xander waved a hand dismissively, "Ah, hearing's over-rated. People can survive perfectly well with—

The door bell rang briefly.

—charades . . ."

The doorbell rang again and Xander turned to frown in the general direction of the door. "Since when does Giles have visitors?"

Buffy copied his actions, frowning and turning in her seat to look behind her at the door. "Yeah and isn't it kinda late?"

"Were you expecting someone?" Willow asked Giles.

"Not that I'm aware of," Giles put his glasses back on and stood to move for the door, which he opened with caution. Despite what anyone may say, Sunnydale wasn't the safest town, what with the gang members and violent animals that would wander in from the nearby forest.

Finding only an obviously exhausted young man with bleached-blond hair looking off to the side, a tattered duffel-bag at his feet, Giles frowned. "Yes?"

Snapping his head around, the young man looked at him with something like doubt. "Y' wouldn't happen t' be Rupert Giles would you?" He sounded British and as though he really didn't expect him to have a positive reply.

"Er, yes. Yes I am."

"Really?" The tired face seemed to brighten momentarily only to quickly dim as he seemed to grow self-conscious. Shifting uncomfortably, he looked down at his dirty boots. "Er, y' prob'ly don' recognize me."

"No . . ." Giles examined the young man. There was something familiar about that face but . . . "No, I can't say that I do."

"Yeah . . ." There was an uncomfortable pause, broken as the guy sighed, "The name's William Mathers."

"Mathers?" Giles' eyes widened and he took a second, closer, look at the young man. "William? I, well, I . . . I'll . ." Flustered, he stepped to the side and gestured for the other to come in. "Come in, come in, please."

Stepping inside, William followed Giles into the living room, where the others had been watching. Looking somewhat surprised at the presence of this audience, his earlier self-consciousness seemed to grow.

"Please sit, sit. Would you care for a cup of tea? Biscuits?"

Sitting down next to Buffy on the couch, William looked uneasily around the room. "Er, yeah. Um," he looked up at Giles, "Y' wouldn't 'appen to 'ave any whisky would you?"

At this Giles paused, "Well, yes but . . ."

"Cos I could really use some o' that."

Giles still looked uncertain, but left to fulfill the request nevertheless, quickly returning with a bottle and small drinking glass.

"Hey, can I have some whiskey too?"

"No Xander." Giles said, returning to his seat next to Anya. William ignored the glass, taking a long swing from the bottle.

"But he got some."

"He is also of the legal age." Still looking somewhat flustered, but calming down, Giles turned to look at William. "You should be . . . 23, right?"

"22"

"22. Yes. I . . ." Giles shook his head in disbelief. "It's been such a long time. It must be over a decade since I've last seen you. And I must say, you've, well. . . ." His eyes swept over the platinum blonde hair, the leather, and the altogether worn-down and somewhat ragged appearance. "You've changed quite a bit."

Taking another swing of whiskey before answering, William just nodded his head and sat back further in his seat. "Yeah. Most blokes do when they go through puberty." He was obviously becoming much more comfortable with the entire situation, his unease and self-consciousness seemingly almost completely gone.

"Er, yes." Giles didn't seem to know quite what to say to that. "They do."

And sensing a pause in the conversation, Anya cut in, "Who are you anyways? And how do you know Giles? You aren't here to take him away, are you? Because I heard that a bunch of you British people wanted to take him away last year. They said they were his family and you sound as if you might be family. And I won't let you take him away from me before he pays me my salary for the year."

William arched a brow.

Giles coughed. "Er, yes. Thank you, Anya." Turning toward the others, he said, "This is my nephew William," and gesturing at each in turn, "William, this is Willow, Tara, Buffy, Xander, and, ah, Anya."

William raised the bottle of whiskey as if to toast, saying "Call me Spike."

"Spike?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah?"

"You mean, like the dog?"

"Actually, like th' railroad spike." Then, voice slow and condescending, "A type of nail."

Buffy looked somewhat confused. "Why would you want to be called a nail?"

"Yes, I'd quite like to know that as well." Giles looked curious and somewhat worried. It wasn't the nicest sounding nickname around.

"Don' like th' name William," Spike answered easily, not actually answering the question.

Xander nodded his head in agreement, "Yeah, I could definitely see that. William's one of those fancy, boring names that make you sound like a sissy." Then he seemed to remember that a guy named William, a rather tough looking guy named William, was actually still in the room. "Um, not that I think you're a sissy or anything. You're obviously very tough and manly and totally un-sissylike. There is nothing even remotely resembling something that could be mistaken as something seen as vaguely sissy from about ten feet away by a guy who really can't see well so he's probably seeing something that isn't even there, and who thinks that a woman looks like one of those macho body-builders because he's from Germany or Switzerland and grew up surrounded by very manly women with lots of hair on their faces, which I now see you don't have and that's not a bad thing, it just makes you that much more macho, and I think I'll just shut up now." Xander suddenly became very interested with a thread from his chair.

Spike just stared at him for a long moment before nodding, "Right. I think I'll jus' let that pass, then."

"Yes, quite." Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "And I think it's about time that you all went home. It's getting rather late and I believe that me and, er, Spike, have quite a bit of catching up to do."

"Yeah, we probably should," Willow nodded as she untangled herself from Tara and got to her feet, "I wanted to re-read the Psych. reading for tomorrow. And I know Buffy hasn't even read it yet."

Buffy protested with a groan of, "But I don't wanna," but still joined Willow and Tara in saying their good-byes and starting the walk back to the college dorms. Xander slowly climbed out of the comfortable chair without protest, stretching as he got to his feet.

Anya, though, was making absolutely no move to leave. Getting up, she stood determined in front of Giles, saying, "I'm not sure we should leave you alone with him. People who want to be called names like Spike just aren't trustworthy. And he's got shifty, beady little eyes, and he never did say that he wasn't going to try and take you away before you gave me my money."

Giles looked at her with long suffering tolerance as he put his glasses back on. "Thank you for your concern, Anya, but I'll be fine. I'll see you in the shop tomorrow."

"Fine. Xander, you'll walk me home."

"I will?" Xander looked up from where he had been stealing the last of the cookies. "Oh, er, yeah, I will." Anya walked quickly out the door, and Xander grabbed one more cookie before moving to catch up. "Bye Giles. Bye, uh, Spike."

Closing the door behind Xander, Giles turned to look at Spike for a long moment, not quite sure on how he had meant to start the conversation now that all of the others were gone. So, stalling for some time, he went back into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of tea, returning a few moments later and taking a seat directly across from his visitor.

And for a while nothing happened, the two sitting in expectant silence. Giles absently stirred his tea as he thought and Spike slowly drank his whiskey and relaxed on the couch, more than thankful for the chance to sit down somewhere comfortable and warm. Giles took a sip and Spike leaned back and closed his eyes.

Finally, eyes not moving from the depths of his drink, Giles found the words and spoke. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but you haven't had any contact with the family since you were 15. . ."

Spike kept his eyes closed, not moving from his relaxed position. "Yeah. Runnin' away from 'ome does seem to 'ave that sort o' effect."

Giles gave Spike a mild look of disapproval, which was, of course, completely lost on his guest. "What I mean is: why now? What could possibly make you break almost ten years of silence?"

This seemed to wake the other up. Opening his eyes and sitting up straighter, Spike looked at Giles seriously. "I'm not breakin' it. I'm not goin' back. I jus' . . ." He cut himself off, looking away and taking another swig of whiskey. "That's why I came to you. You didn' agree with them either. I was thinkin' you wouldn't tell."

"No," Giles shook his head and took another sip of his tea. "No I won't. Not if I don't think I need to."

At this, Spike turned back to face him. "You wouldn't."

Giles regarded him seriously. "I will if I think whatever it is you need is going to cause any harm."

Spike looked angry at the insinuations of that comment, "Wot do y' think I am? It won't."

"It's just that I remember how you were starting to act right before you left."

"Y' weren't even there," shades of accusation that Giles carefully ignored.

"I didn't have to be," Giles said mildly, "Mother was always more than willing to catch me up on the family gossip."

Unable to argue this, Spike grit his teeth. "This is different."

"Really? Then what is it?"

"I . . . " abruptly running out of steam, Spike shifted in his seat and looked down uncomfortably as he mumbled, "I jus' need a place t' stay fer a bit."

"Why?"

"Need t' make some money, now don't I?" Spike shifted in his seat again, avoiding Giles's eyes. Which was slightly suspicious.

"William," Giles pressed more insistently, "Why?"

"Look, it's nuthin' bad, alright?" sick of the questions, Spike looked up at him in defiance, "Yer jus' goin' t' have t' trust me on that."

And Giles did want to trust him. But it was starting to sound as though Spike was running from something and Giles didn't want to get involved with anything shady. Not answering, Giles took another sip of his tea and frowned, thinking seriously about the issue. He wanted to help. He did. But could he?

Spike didn't look any happier at Giles' seeming hesitance. "I seem t' remember y' tellin' me that th' offer of help was always open."

Which was true, Giles conceded. He put his cup down on the table before looking up again. "And you can promise me that whatever this is isn't going to bring any trouble?"

Spike nodded sharply. "Yeah."

Giles considered this. Finally deciding, "Alright then. You can stay in the guest bedroom."

Spike almost looked relieved. "Thanks"

--

TBC


	3. Ch2: First Impressions

I still don't own anything.

And just to explain what I imagine and am using as Giles' living room since I don't really care enough to go study my Buffy DVDs: it has a love seat, couch, armchair, and two large bookshelves, with the armchair and love seat facing each other and the couch between them and facing the bookshelves.

* * *

-

Chapter #2: First Impressions

-

The next day, sometime in the late afternoon, Giles answered the call of his doorbell to find Buffy and Willow on his front steps.

"Buffy. Willow." Giles stepped back as the two entered. "To what do I owe this surprise?"

Buffy tilted her head slightly with a small frown. "Didn't you get our message?"

"Ah, no, I didn't. I've actually just got in." Closing the door, he motioned for them to continue on to the living room. "Would you like some tea? I just put a pot on."

Shaking their heads, Buffy and Willow took a seat on the couch, eyes following Giles as disappeared into the kitchen. He stayed in there for a few moments, the sound of cabinets opening and closing floating out into the living room. Finally, he returned with a small cup of tea and took a seat on the nearby love seat.

"So, what can I do for you?"

Buffy shrugged. "We actually just came to visit."

"You're not busy, are you?" Willow looked up at him. "We can leave if you want."

"Oh, no, no, it's perfectly alright." Giles took a sip of his tea then looked up at them with a small smile. "Though, I do get the feeling you have an ulterior motive."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You make it sound so shady. We just want to get to know your nephew a bit, that's all."

"Yeah," Willow nodded, "Especially if he's going to be here for awhile." Then, looking curious, she asked, "Is he? Going to be here awhile, I mean."

"Yes, I imagine he will." Giles sighed and took another sip of tea. "He's actually out searching for a job, at the moment."

"A job?" Buffy echoed, a weird look on her face for some reason, and Giles nodded. "Huh," then, shaking this off, she asked, "What's his story, anyways? I mean showing up late at night, unexpected, and with, like, no baggage . . . ?" She trailed off with a significant look. "You know what that sounds like."

"Yeah, and it didn't sound like you two had been all that close, either. You know, with you not seeing him for 10 years and all," Willow added, then narrowed her eyes in accusation, "And why didn't you ever tell us you had brothers and sisters?"

"And what was with the 'call me Spike' thing?" Buffy asked, "I mean, _Spike_?"

"I have to admit," Giles said, "I was wondering about that myself."

"What?" Confused

"Well, wondering about why he showed up after so long and now calls himself Spike, anyhow. I can figure out the rest."

There was a pause as Giles absently stirred his drink and stared into its dark brown depths until Buffy finally broke the silence with an expectant, "And?"

Giles looked up, slightly confused on her meaning after being lost in thought. "And?"

She gave an annoyed sigh. "And that tells us absolute nothing. Spill already—what's his deal?"

"Oh, oh yes. Well," Settling in, Giles took another sip before falling into story-teller mode. "William is actually the son of my older sister, Margaret. I only had the one, and she died years before I came here, so I wasn't necessarily keeping anything from you by not mentioning her," a nod to the girls, before continuing, "She had been sickly for a good-a good deal of time before her passing, and, to help, I would offer to watch over William whenever necessary," here, Giles shook his head with a slight smile, lost in memory, "He'd always been such a shy and quiet child. Very polite. But, following Margaret's death, I'm told that William began to . . . act out a bit. I don't know how true the stories are, as I'd just gotten my job at The British Museum and gone off on my own, but from what I've heard, when he was around 14 he met this rather, ah . . . strange young girl living on the streets and began to grow more and more troublesome, skipping school, being rude, getting arrested and so on. Then, when he was 15, he just . . . disappeared. Left a note to say he was leaving, so we didn't think him dead, thankfully, but he was never found or heard from again."

Buffy and Willow looked suitably shocked.

"And so he just turns up after all these years?" Willow asked.

"Yes."

Buffy leaned forward, face serious. "And how do you even know it's really him? He could be a . . .a . . ." She waved a hand in the air, searching for a word, "a psycho murderer or something."

Giles gave her a disapproving look. "Really Buffy. A psycho murderer?"

"It could happen."

"Oh!" Willow perked up. "Or maybe he's an imposter that's taken on your nephew's name to, you know, scam you out of lots of money."

Buffy gave Willow a weird look. "And you sound _way_ too excited about that."

"I just . . ." she blushed, settling back into her seat. "Well, it was just an idea."

Ignoring this by-play, Giles shook his head. "Ah, well you don't have to worry; it's him. The memory is . . . is somewhat faint, I admit, but I do remember what William looked like. I just couldn't see the - the resemblance at first; he has grown quite a bit since I'd last seen him. And, of course, there is that hair . . ." He shrugged. "Besides, I can't imagine anyone knowing about his disappearance—as my family is quite well-known, they, understandably, didn't want the - the shame that a runaway would bring if it was made, well, public knowledge. So, I would say that safely rules out both imposters and, ah, psycho murderers."

"Well okay." Buffy sat back. "But just because he's the real deal doesn't mean that he's not still a possible sicko. I mean, you don't know him at all. Plus, being a runaway and calling himself Spike?"—significant look at Giles—"Doesn't exactly scream nice."

Giles didn't seem very pleased by this opinion of his nephew and Willow turned to Buffy with a frown, about to admonish her for judging others before you actually knew them, when a mocking British voice spoke up from behind.

"Ah, now that's not nice, talkin' 'bout me behind my back like that." Casually strolling into the room, Spike dropped himself into the armchair and smirked at Buffy. "Gentle as a kitten, I am."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, "Why do I somehow doubt that?"

"Well, I dunno, luv," he said, voice mild, "Maybe yer just a paranoid bitch."

"Or _mayb_e," Buffy started, her voice sugar sweet, but was then interrupted.

"Buffy! William! Do at least _try_ and behave yourselves."

Buffy crossed her arms irritably, made a sound of disgust, and gave Giles a look, but went quiet.

Spike, though, was not one to be angry and stay silent. "Oi! I'm no bloody mutt," he almost snarled, leaning forward, "An' th' name's _Spike_."

"Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me," Giles, setting his now finished cup of tea on the small coffee table in front of him, was obviously not listening. Sitting back, he turned to his nephew and changed the subject. "How did the search go?"

Spike snorted and leaned back, deciding to let the matter drop for the moment. "Bloody 'orrible. There ain't a goddamn shit job in this 'ole bloody burg."

Giles closed his eyes and prayed. "Must you speak like that?"

"Like wot?" Spike smirked.

"Like an uneducated miscreant."

Seeing Spike open his mouth, and guessing that whatever he meant to say would only prolong this new argument, Willow cut in, saying, "Well, if you're having trouble finding a job, you should ask Xander. He has a whole bunch of connections around town."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And a whole bunch of experience."

"Buffy . . ." Willow gave her a disappointed look. "It's not Xander's fault. He just . . ."

"Has the worst luck in the history of bad luck in everything he ever does?"

"No he doesn't!"

Buffy and Giles just looked at her.

"Well, okay, he does. But it's not his fault. And, hey, before you get fired from a job, you have to be hired. And he got hired a lot." She smiled proudly. "So that's good."

Spike tilted his head at Willow, slightly interested. "An' jus' where would I find this Xander?"

"You met him last night, remember?" Buffy asked, turning to Spike with an amused look. "He made a little speech about your manliness?" The look accompanying this making it clear just what she thought of said "manliness".

Spike easily ignored this, focusing on the more important bits. "Th' dark-haired bloke?

Willow nodded, making an affirmative noise.

"An' 'e could get me a job?"

"He couldn't hurt." At least, she thought he couldn't.

"Right." Spike nodded, quickly reaching out to snatch a napkin from the coffee table. Then, leaning back, he scrimmaged around in his duster pockets for a moment—Willow absently wondered why he was still wearing it in this heat—and pulled out a pen. "This Xander got a number?" Napkin balanced on his arm and pen poised.

Here, Willow looked hesitant. "We-well, yeah, he does, but . . ."

"But . . . ?" Spike looked up from the napkin, raising a brow.

"I . . . I don't think he'd really like me to give it to you . . ."

"Wot? Why not?" Spike allowed the pen and napkin to drop into his lap as he sat up a little straighter, a little offended.

"Oh no, I don't mean that in a _mean_ way. I just . . . It's just that we don't really know you very well yet," Willow said, hurrying to add, "Not that we think you're gonna use it to _stalk_ him or anything. But-but you know?"

Spike sniffed and leaned back in his chair again. "Well, yer not gonna get ta know _anyone_ with that attitude."

"Besides, he's supposed to be coming over today. Well, maybe not over as in _over_, 'cuz I don't live here, but I called him last night and he said he was probably gonna be here today, so he should be here sooner or later, and then you won't really _need_ to call him anymore, anyways."

Spike gave a disinterested shrug, looking away.

Willow bit her lip and searched desperately for something to say.

This whole thing was just going so wrong.

When she and Buffy had planned this, she'd only wanted to be friendly, get to know Giles' nephew, and to just generally have _fun_. But now, after only 5 minutes, she'd insulted the nephew, made him think Xander was a phone-number-hoarding anti-social weirdo, and Buffy was already on her way to making yet another enemy.

"Now William," Giles gave Spike a disapproving look. "I'm sure—

"Jus' 'ow many times do I 'ave ta bleedin' _tell_ ya?" Spike interrupted, glaring at Giles yet again. "It's _Spike_ now."

"Yes. So you've said," Giles nodded, obviously trying to stay civil in the face of his nephew's rude behavior, "What I don't quite understand is _why_."

"Y' goin' deaf in yer old age, are y', Unc?" the smirk on Spike's face a nasty thing, "I told y' jus' las' night, now, didn' I?"

And now, on top of all that other badness, Giles and his nephew were fighting.

"Yes. And I remember it quite clearly." Giles' voice tightening, "But then I find myself wondering about the line of reasoning _behind_ that particular choice. You'll understand if the name Spike does not inspire the utmost confidence."

"An' I thought I told y' I wasn' doin' anythin' _bad_."

"Yes, well, your behavior so far has not—"

"Oh, _wot_, now 'm supposed ta be some sort a-a," Spike made an angry gesture with one hand thrown in the air as he searched for a word, "-a bleedin' _choir-boy_ or somethin'?"

Giles was unimpressed. "You are _supposed_ to be able to refrain yourself from being an insulting—"

"An' I _would_ if they didn'—

"—who could speak like a proper, if not intelligent—"

"Oi! Y' callin' me a moron?"

Frantic, Willow looked back and forth between both men, wanting to put an end to their fighting but unsure how. She found no help turning to Buffy, who was watching the proceedings and obviously loving it. Then the doorbell rang and Willow almost sighed in relief even as the two British men kept right on going.

That was probably Xander.

Maybe now they could get back to the nice, safe, topic of a new job.

Jumping up, Willow quickly walked over to open the door, thankfully finding that Xander was, indeed, behind it.

"Xander!" Willow smiled. "What took you so long?"

"Uh . . ." Xander gave a sheepish smile, reaching up to scratch the back of his head self-consciously as he stepped inside and allowed her to shut the door behind him. "I didn't think I was _that_ late." Looking at the clock he noticed that it was barely past 4:30. "Unless someone's been messing with those gosh-darn laws of reality again and being early is now the new late and everyone just forgot to tell me, 'cuz that would actually explain a lot."

Willow just gave him a slightly too wide smile, turning to lead the way back into the living room.

"—_not_ raised to be a slob."

"_Raised?_ Wot, y' goin' senile too? I—" Spike stopped, turning to eye the new arrival.

Taking quick note of the obvious tension in the air, Xander made his uneasy way through the room to sit next to Giles on the two-person love seat. From this position, he was treated to an especially good view of Buffy's evilly amused expression and Giles' nephew, who was blatantly ignoring his uncle's look of extreme disapproval to watch Xander.

"Um . . . " Curious as to what he'd done to become the object of that disinterested gaze, Xander shifted in his seat, smiled uncomfortably, and gave a little wave. "Hi?"

The guy nodded at him, expression unchanging. "So, yer th' bloke with th' stalker phobia, huh?"

"Huh?"

Willow looked a bit embarrassed.

"Heard you were th' one t' talk to 'bout gettin' a job around 'ere."

"A – a _job_? Did you say job?" Xander's eyes grew in surprised incredulity, "Wait - wait, a _job_? An _actual_ job? You want _me_ to get _you_ a job? _Me_?" By this point, Xander wasn't really asking anyone, just working himself up to a shock/confusion-induced babble. But, before he could really get going, Spike answered anyways.

"I don' want ya ta _get_ me anything. Red, 'ere, said y' knew a bunch a people that could be hiring. Thought y' could put in a word or sumthin'."

Xander blinked, still confused about why anybody would ask _him_ for help. It was a totally new experience. Especially for something like this. "For a job?"

"_Yes_, you idiot," supremely irritated, "A job. Me. You. Not that difficult."

"Well, if you're just gonna call me names, then I don't think I wanna help you." Tiny bit of a mock-whine in Xander's voice.

Spike made a frustrated _you-people-are-impossible_-type sound, looking ready to just give up and leave. He didn't need their help _that_ badly.

"Xander," Willow softly chided, still trying to prevent giving Spike a horrible first impression of them all, "I'm sure Spike didn't really _mean_ to call you stupid."

A muttered, "Yes, I did."

She ignored him. "He's just a little frustrated right now because he can't find anyplace hiring."

Xander sighed. "Well, yeah Wills, and, hey, not like I've never been called an idiot before—"

"Could call y' sumthin' worse, if y'd like."

"—but I still can't help him. For one thing, I can't just recommend every guy I meet, 'cuz, then, if he sucks I'll get the blame. Plus, Giles' family aside, for all I know him he could be anything from an ax murderer to obsessive accountant to undercover diva."

Off to the side, Buffy giggled. "I vote the last one. That hair just screams a love for sequins and slinky dresses."

Not too happy about Xander's comment in the first place, Spike scowled in Buffy's direction, asking, "Whereas yer's only screams _T-E-E-M,_ _Go Team Go!_?" and putting a mock-enthusiastic fist in the air.

Giles hid a little smile behind a cough.

"And for another," Xander continued, completely ignoring the by-play, "I currently have no boss to give a word _to_."

"Oh, Xander," immediately sympathetic, Willow reached out to pat him on the shoulder, "You got fired again?"

A somewhat glum, "Yeah."

"And this one was going so _well_, too."

"I _know_," he despaired, and slumped further into his seat.

"Is that why you got here so early?"

Xander nodded, "Well that and I wanted to ask Ahn something," looking absently around the room, "I thought she'd be here by now."

"Oh, no," Giles shook his head, absently taking off his glasses to clean them, "She's still at The Magic Box, I'm afraid. There was a mistake with the inventory and she insisted on handling the mess herself."

This sounding mildly interesting, Spike tilted his head in their direction. "The Magic Box?"

"Er, yes, it's this little shop I just recently bought."

"Yeah, and it's really neat," Willow smiled enthusiastically, turning away from Xander, "It was always a bit on the cheesy side before, with the old owner buying into the whole commercialization of magic, but Giles is trying to fix that. Tara and I go to it all the time for supplies. I actually just bought one of the new books, and there's this one spell—

"Magic?" Spike interrupted, giving Giles an odd look, "I thought y'd stopped with that."

"I- you," Giles' eyes went wide in shock, and he quickly put his glasses back on, "You know- you know about that?"

Willow and Xander shared a look as Buffy watched the scene in confusion. They hadn't seen Giles that shocked for a while. Some juicy family secret, maybe?

"Course, I do."

"What?" Buffy jumped in, "Know about what?"

"But – but how . . . ? You couldn't possibly remember, and-and I'm quite positive that no one would ever actually tell you."

"What're you guys talking about?" Buffy asked, "Giles?"

"Well, I do. So tell me," Spike said, beginning to give the others strange looks as well, assessing and almost disturbed looks, "This lot yer new demon-cult? 'Cos, can't say any of y' really look th' part. An' from wot I've 'eard about those cults?" eyes returning to his uncle, "It's a bit jail-bait, innit?"

* * *

TBC

* * *


	4. Ch3: Movie Time

I still don't own BTVS or the characters.

* * *

-

Chapter # 3: Movie Time

-

Time went on, misunderstandings were cleared up, Xander found a job at Blockbuster, Spike was eventually able to land a job at the local grocery store, and, for a few weeks, life settled back into a routine. Spike slowly developing a life parallel to the others, paths never crossing apart from the Sunday gatherings his uncle forced him to attend, apparently in an attempt to "civilize" him.

Then, one Friday down the line, Xander was dragging himself to the grocery store for a food run, it being his turn to host a Movie Night with the girls and the 7-11 type stores just didn't have the same bulk bags of junk as grocery stores. He was using the collection of money gathered from the group as a whole of course. Barely able to afford rent, Xander wasn't going to be treating anyone to a snack-fest anytime soon.

And it was as he was wandering through the aisles, in search of chips, candy, soda, popcorn, or whatever else caught his eye, that Xander caught sight of a familiar form kneeling on the ground and he pushed his cart over to say hi.

"Hey," slouching over his cart, Xander waited for acknowledgment.

"Yes, can I help—?" Turning away from his stocking of the shelves to look up at the speaker, Spike's polite customer service face dropped and he turned away again, "Oh, it's jus' you."

"Oh, now that's just rude," Xander straightened from his slouch to take on a stance of mock offense, "Here I am, a valued customer of this fine establishment, coming to you after a hard day's work to throw my own hard-earned money in your hands, not asking for much in return, just a small taste of the many beautiful life-giving foodstuffs so nicely displayed on these shelves—

"Look, mate, I've got better things t' do than listen t' yer blabberin' all night," Spike interrupted, standing up and going through the practically reflexive action of brushing dust from his pants. Xander tried not to snicker at the uniform, knowing that he'd worn much, much, worse himself.

Plus Xander figured that Spike would look stupid wearing _any_ type of uniform that didn't include him also involve serving alcohol and standing behind the bar to a club far more risqué than the Bronze.

"Is this actually goin' somewhere?"

Xander relaxed back into his more normal stance, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Nah, not really. What's up? You weren't at the G-man's last Sunday and I need my weekly dose of manly posturing."

Spike gave him a somewhat annoyed sideways glance. "Nuthin' y' didn' hear abou' th' week before."

Xander looked disappointed. "Aw, c'mon man, nothing? As in _nothing_ nothing?"

"Not unless yer wantin' t' hear all 'bout some o' these git's shopping choices," he shrugged, "You bloody Yanks will eat some fuckin' disgusting shit."

"And here I was," Xander sighed, "all ready and raring to hear fun stories of crazy-dirty monkey sex and drunken acts of stupid. What were you doing then that you couldn't come?"

"Not like I actually missed anythin' important," Spike mumbled, reaching down to pick up the now empty box on the floor, "An' I've been busy."

Which was a good enough reason, Xander guessed, and he decided to move on to asking his real question.

"Are you busy tomorrow tonight?"

"Might be," Spike answered, placing the empty box on top of his other empty boxes already on that two-wheeled push-thing for heavy objects (1), "Why?"

Xander shrugged and leaned against his cart again. "Doing this sort of movie night thing with Buffy and Wills tomorrow. It's a tradition we have. Rent a bunch of random movies and get into a mockage flow. Thought you'd maybe want to come, if only for a free chance at all the mocking and sneering you can fit into a single night."

A snort. "Go down t' that little kiddy club any night o' th' week, an' I can do that on my own. Don't need help by hangin' 'round you lot."

"True," Xander allowed, "But this is a chance at mockage, movies, and junk food up the whazoo without having to pay a cent."

"Not a cent?" At this, Spike started to look a little more interested, "Y' gonna 'ave any beer there, too?"

Xander shook his head. "Don't drink. Not old enough to buy either. But tell you what, you come, and I'll give you a few bucks to get your own," Xander looked over to see how this proposal was being taken. He felt weird with doing the whole bribery thing, but it had been so long since he'd had any type of real guy friends and Xander thought that he and Spike could maybe work out. They already had something in common, with the shit jobs and no college. All he needed to do was bring him into the group more. Wha'dya say?"

Spike looked noncommittal and none too excited about the prospect. "I'll think about it."

Xander grinned.

* * *

"Okay, then, how bout this one?" Buffy held up an older vampire flick and looked innocent. The two of them were at Blockbuster, the night slow enough that Xander could pretend that hanging out with a friend was actual work. And, hey, they were picking out movies, so technically he wasn't even lying.

He raised a brow at the choice. "Other than the fact that we've seen that one like a hundred times?"

She lowered DVD, getting defensive. "And, what, seeing it just one more time will make you explode?"

"Explode, no, bleed from the eyes, yes."

She ignored him. "And besides, we haven't even seen this one for, like, months."

"Really?" Xander asked, frowning a bit as he thought back on all their more recent movie nights, "I could've sworn . . . ," he gave up, shaking his head, "We watch way too many vamp-movies; they're all starting to look the same to me."

"And I'm being all nice and letting you invite Spike to watch movies with us. I deserve a present."

"Aw, come on, Buf. It's just being nice. I mean, the guy's G-man's nephew and new in town. He doesn't really know anyone yet," but Xander was visibly wearing down, "Besides, he's really not that bad a guy." At least, Xander didn't _think_ he was.

"Then we should definitely get this one," Buffy decided to try a slightly different tactic, "Spike looks like the kind of guy to like stuff like this and he might not have seen it yet."

"True," Xander accepted the loss gracefully and held out a hand for the DVD, "But in the future, when you finally get help for this strange little vampire obsession of yours, you can't say I never tried to stop you."

"Whatever, Xan," Buffy rolled her eyes and turned back to the shelves, "What else do we want?"

"Hmmm . . . ," turning back to the shelves himself, Xander scanned the shelves seriously, "We should definitely look on the older shelves."

"Which row?"

Hearing one of his co-workers calling his name, he was needed at the counter, Xander shrugged. "I'll leave that up to you. Duty calls," waving the DVD case still in his hand, "I'll keep this at the desk."

Acknowledging his departure with a little wave, Buffy decided to start out in the Romance section.

And it was while as she was poking through the miscellaneous cheesy and overly sappy romances that she noticed, out of the corner of her eyes, the grade-A hottie browsing through the buy-used table.

As casually as she could, Buffy began to slowly wander in his direction for a better look.

She just wanted to change aisles, that's all. Nothing suspicious here. And if she just happened to remember that her little sister's birthday was coming up, and that maybe Dawn wanted a DVD, then the little trip to the buy-used table was perfectly natural. She didn't notice the hot guy at all. Even if the hot guy _was_ really seriously hot from this angle. And, oh, look, there's the movie Dawn wanted, right next to him, imagine that.

Buffy leaned over to grab a DVD at random, brushing against the guy's arm in the process. Straightening, Buffy pretended to notice the guy's presence for the first time and tried to give him her best smile. "Oh. Hi!"

'Oh. Hi?' God, she was lame.

But the guy's eyes, really pretty eyes she noticed, were a bit amused and there was something of smile on his lips. "Hi"

* * *

"And so then he's all 'Interesting choice,' and I look down and see that the video I grabbed is this old and, like, super gross movie about little Martians coming to invade us all or something and I try to play it off, you know? But I'm so embarrassed—I mean, could I have _been_ more lame?—and of course he notices, but he's all nice about it and is all 'Not what you wanted?' and then starts to help me choose."

It was later that night and Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Spike were all over at Xander's crap apartment watching movies and chowing down. Anya was on a date, and Tara had, unfortunately, needed to go to a late-night study-group for a class she took without Willow.

Sitting on the floor and leaning against Xander's couch, Buffy smiled and clutched her pillow closer. "It was great,"

Willow mirrored her excited smile, looking over at Buffy from where she lay on a big pillow brought from her dorm. "You're gonna see him again, right?"

"Yeah. He said he's gonna call me sometime this week."

At this, Spike gave a derisive snort, taking another swing of his Jack Daniels, a bribe bought with Xander's money and his only contribution to the night. "Right"

Buffy turned to glare up at where he slouched on the couch and defended her newest guy, "He'll call."

Spike ignored her easily. Unless he could mock it, he'd been mostly ignoring everything she said since he'd arrived.

"So what's his name?" Willow asked, bringing Buffy back on topic, "You never said."

And Buffy's smile returned. "It's Angel."

Spike lowered his drink at this and turned to listen to the conversation more closely. It couldn't be. It would be impossible. But how many blokes could there possibly be in the world who would actually admit to the name Angel in public?

"And I still can't believe that," Xander shook his head, "It has to be a fake. I mean, what kind of a name is _Angel_?"

And now Buffy was frowning at Xander for the insult against a hopeful-hunny. "A good one."

"Maybe it's a nickname?" Willow suggested.

"Well, let's hope so," Xander frowned, "Can you even imagine what would happen to a kid named Angel on the playground?"

Having to know, Spike broke in, "What's his last name?"

Buffy turned to look at him again, a little confused by the sudden interest. "I dunno. Not like I hand out questionnaires to every guy I meet. Why?"

"No reason." Spike shrugged and went back to ignoring her again. Probably a false alarm. Had to be.

"So then you can't check up on this guy's story?" Xander asked, tossing another M&M into his mouth, "How do you know that he's not gonna use that number to stalk you or something? Angel might not be his name at all." Sitting on the opposite side of the couch, Spike had to give Xander a brief look of disgust at the paranoia. A look which Xander completely ignored.

"Pfft, you're way too paranoid," Buffy waved off the question, "He's not gonna stalk me. He was way too nice."

Xander raised his brow. "And stalkers can't be nice?"

"He's not some crazy stalker-guy, okay?" Insistent

And Xander backed off, putting his hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine, the guy's a model citizen, whatever."

"Maybe we should just watch the movie?" Willow asked

"_Yes_," Spike agreed maybe a touch too loudly, exasperated, "Let's all listen t' Red there, yeah? It's wot we're 'ere for after all, innit? Watchin' movies?" breaking off to take a swing of JD, he muttered to himself, "Haven't shut yer yaps once since y' got 'ere."

"You didn't _have_ to come, you know," Buffy frowned up at him, wishing him gone, "None of us are actually forcing you to stay."

"True" Spike acknowledged this with a nod then looked a bit confused and asked no one in particular, "Why _am_ I still 'ere?"

Xander leaned back into his place on the couch and looked over at him with a smirk. "Not paying for stuff is a powerful temptation, remember?"

A grimace, "Oh yeah"

* * *

TBC


	5. Ch4: Getting to Know You

Okay, people may have noticed that I deleted, like, half of this story. The way it was going I was having trouble getting the boys together and I would have been stuck on that problem for months so I decided to go a different way starting with the next chapter. Sorry, but hopefully this will be better.

* * *

-

Chapter # 4: Getting to Know You

-

Despite how Spike may have scoffed, Angel called Buffy two days later.

The two had talked and, discovering he had just started graduate school at UC Sunnydale, it was decided they would meet at the small college café' located near the center of campus for coffee the following evening.

It all seemed so sophisticated and mature to Buffy. Her usual dates were always more likely to take her dancing or to the backseat of their cars and she was liking this change of pace. She felt all nice and adult-ish.

And Angel himself was just amazing. Behind all that major hotness, he was also sophisticated and deep, intelligent and mature. An actual _artist_.

And, okay, he wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs, or the biggest of talkers, and definitely wasn't huge on the smiling, but he had his moments and just seemed so incredibly sweet.

All in all, he was so wonderfully different than all her other guys and Buffy was really wanting this date to go well.

Seated at one of the patio tables of the campus café, the night warm and the chatter of the other café patrons mingling with the soft sounds of a radio in the background, Buffy looked up at her date. "So, you're a graduate, huh?"

Angel nodded, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. "Yep"

"What," she smiled, "did you not get in anywhere else or something?"

"No," he chuckled softly, shaking his head, "This was actually my first choice."

"Really?" she asked, then quickly backpedaled as the amount of disbelief in her voice registered, "I mean, not that it's a bad thing, you wanting to come here and all, I just didn't think anyone but my mom would actually _want_ to come to Sunnydale. This is the kind of place people just accidentally end up in and never escape."

"I like it here," Angel placed his coffee mug down, absently watching a pair of students walk idly past, "It's peaceful."

"You mean boring," she corrected.

He turned back to her with a shrug, "Same thing really, my word just sounds nicer."

"But still," she reiterated, "Boring. What kind of person wants boring?"

He smiled. "Me, obviously.

"But _why?_" Buffy trying to understand this man's obviously warped thinking, "You aren't one of those artists that spends hours in the fields painting daisies, are you?"

"No," another soft chuckle, "my focus is more on the human figure. I just . . ." he trailed off, trying to put feeling into words, "I dunno. I guess I just like the calm that comes with a small town like this."

"Really? 'Cuz I actually grew up in LA and this small town stuff almost killed me when I first moved here," she popped a piece of her muffin into her mouth and tilted her head, "Where'd you grow up?"

"Dublin mostly," Angel said, and then, seeing she didn't recognize the name, he explained, "It's the capital of Ireland."

"Ireland?" she asked, eying him skeptically, "You don't sound very Irish."

"Well, I've been in the States for almost four years now. I've had some time to lose the accent."

"Yeah right," she scoffed, "I have this older friend who's been here for just as long and he sounds just as British as the day he got here. 'Fess up," she pointed a finger in his direction, "You're really from somewhere totally boring like Kansas or something and just don't want to admit it, aren't you?"

"Actually," Angel looked slightly embarrassed. "Would you believe me if I told you I forced myself to lose the accent?"

"No," Buffy said bluntly, "Why would anybody do something stupid like that?"

"Well . . . Americans," he started hesitantly, so obviously reaching for every word, "The accent is so . . . so quirky, and . . . and level. Why _wouldn't_ I want to sound like that?"

"You want to sound _level_?" her confused expression clearly asking for either a clearer word or a more realistic explanation.

"Yes, level. As in, everything is said very evenly," he nodded. "I was nothing but a bad stereotype with my Irish lilting and poor artist lifestyle. Since I couldn't do anything about my lack of funds, the accent just had to go."

"Well, I don't know . . ." Buffy said, narrowing her eyes in consideration and trying not to smile in amusement, "I don't think I've ever heard of _that_ stereotype."

Angel looked down into his drink and muttered sullenly, "They thought I was British."

"Whatever," laughter in her voice as she finally smiled and popped another bit of muffin in her mouth.

"No, really," he looked up earnestly, "It's true."

Casually leaning against a pool table at the Bronze, Spike watched in disgust as Xander sunk a shot in the right corner pocket then jumped up with a rather loud shout of, "Oh yeah, take _that _you stupid ball!"

Noticing the odd looks being drawn from the surrounding crowd, Spike shook his head. "I'm not so sure I want t' be seen with you in public."

Calming down somewhat, Xander smiled, "And if I hadn't heard that so many times I might be actually be hurt. What is it about me that makes people say that?"

"Dunno, mate," straightening from his leaning position, Spike tilted his head at the boy as though to examine him, "might be th' shirt, but, then again," he shrugged, "might just be 'cos yer a fuckin' moron."

"Hey," Xander pointed in Spike's direction, "This fuckin' moron is about to kick your British ass all up and down this pool table," letting his hand drop and moving around to take his next shot. "Don't disrespect."

Moving out of the boy's way, he took a quick glance at the table to make sure the game hadn't somehow transformed in the last thirty seconds. "An' jus' wot fantasy land are _you_ livin' in, mate? We've been playin' fer over an 'our, an' that was yer third score all game."

"Yeah," Xander said, closely examining the table arrangement as he carefully lined up his next shot, "but now I'm getting into the pool-playing-_groove_."

Spike snorted. "Well, yer groove came a bit too late now, didn' it? I've jus' got these two 'ere," throwing a hand in the direction of the 8-ball and his one remaining solid, "an' yer buyin' me drinks fer th' rest o' th; night."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Xander muttered, finally taking his shot. Watching as the white ball hit its intended target with a soft clack, and as the intended target defied the laws of physics as Xander so loosely knew them and veered a sharp left, going absolutely nowhere near the intended pocket. Scowling, he stood back up with a frustrated, "Dammit."

Chuckling, Spike took up his own pool cue and moved to easily finish the game. "Easiest money I've ever won."

"I knew it," putting aside his cue, Xander sullenly dug his wallet out of his pocket, "You're a total hustler, aren't you?" not waiting for an answer, Xander shoved a twenty in the other's hands, "Bring me back a Rootbeer, would ya?"

Spike raised a brow and waved the bill in the air. "Not goin' t' take advantage o' th' chance fer underage drinkin'?"

"Oh yeah . . ." Xander's eyes widened, this thought obviously having never completely registered in his mind. "I can do that?" looking at Spike in a new light, "You'd really buy some for me?"

"Course. It's yer money, innit?" slipping the twenty into a coat pocket, Spike shrugged easily, "Plus corruptin' minors is a favorite hobby o' mine."

"Al-_right_," Xander smiled, rubbing his hands together in glee, "Oh, I am so definitely keeping you."

Spike raised a brow at this. "Keeping me?"

"Yes. Keeping," Xander nodded decisively, declaring, "You are now named Fluffy and sleep at the foot of my bed."

"Really?" Somewhat amused by the picture and getting an idea, Spike lowered his voice and smirked, moving slightly closer, "Well, I don' quite see myself a Fluffy," letting his eyes take their time running down Xander's body, "but I can _definitely_ see sleepin' in yer bed. That is," and up to his eyes, "if collars are involved."

"D-Did you just—" Xander stammered, looking shocked.

Egged on by this reaction, Spike masterfully kept his face serious and sensual as he moved even closer. "Could even find a leash t' chain me up if y'd like."

"_No!_" Xander threw out a desperate hand as he stumbled back a step and into the pool table, "I . . . I don't . . ."

"Y' don' want me t' be yer pet?" Spike pouted, stopping just inside Xander's personal space. "But I can be a very," leaning in to speak in a husky whisper and filling his voice with innuendo, "_very,_ good kitty.".

"_Oh my god!_" Xander freaked, shoving Spike away and scrambling off to the side. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

And Spike burst out laughing.

"Oh," staring at the man bowed over in laughter, Xander fought to regain his wits as he realized that he'd just been played, "oh, I hate you so much right now."

"So you used to live in LA?" Angel asked, both to move the conversation away from the topic of his questionable origins and genuinely curious, "Why did you move to Sunnydale?"

"It was my Mom's thing, really" Buffy shrugged, allowing him the obvious change, "She and Dad had just gotten divorced and she'd wanted a whole new start in a completely different environment."

"Ah, divorce," Angel nodded sympathetically, "You still see your dad though, right?"

"Not really," attempting casual, Buffy avoided his eyes by tracing idle shapes on the tabletop, "It's a bit of a drive here from LA and he gets busy a lot, you know?" quick glance in his direction.

"Oh, sorry," Angel seemed to shrink back in his seat slightly in guilt, "I didn't mean to . . . you know . . ."

"Bring up a sensitive topic?" she gave up on her shapes to smile at him.

"Yeah," a bit sheepishly.

"Don't worry. I don't mind," turning her full attention back on him, she leaned forward against the table, resting her head in a hand, "What about you? Still keep up with the folks?"

"No," shaking his head, Angel lowered his eyes, "My parents actually died when I was really young."

"Oh my god," Buffy's eyes widened and she sat up straight, bringing a hand up to her mouth, "I am _so_ sorry. I didn't mean to—I mean, if I'd known, I wouldn't of—

"Buffy, don't worry," he cut in, looking back up again, "It was a long time ago."

"But still . . ." somewhat comforted by his obviously non-offended state, Buffy still hesitated, biting her lip, "I mean . . ."

"I mean it. I really don't mind," he smiled slightly in reassurance, trying to calm her down, "I barely even remember them."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Well okay then . . ." embarrassed at her complete social faux pas, Buffy looked down to study the remains of her muffin closely, turned it around in a few circles, fidgeting in the ensuing uncomfortable atmosphere, "I am sorry though."

"I know."

There was another uncomfortable moment before Buffy could look up from her muffin to try again. "And you probably got some really nice foster parents or legal guardians, right?"

"No," Angel shook his head again, "The orphanage I went to wasn't exactly in the best part of town so no one really had the time or the money to deal with any additional mouths to feed. And the people that _did_ have the money just couldn't be bothered with us slum kids," his voice turning bitter, "Not enough _publicity_ to it, I guess."

Buffy sat for a moment to fully take this in.

"You know, I think I'll just shut up now before I say anything worse."

"Tha' was fuckin' _beautiful_, mate" snickering, "Yer _face_ . . ."

"I _hate_ you," Xander repeated, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling self-conscious, all too aware of the people now curiously looking their way.

"An' y' practically screamin' bloody murder . . ." Spike shook his head with a grin, "Too priceless."

"No it _wasn't_," Xander complained. "It wasn't funny at _all_."

Hearing this, Spike raised his head to catch the sight of Xander pouting, his arms crossed and face still red, and couldn't help another bout of mocking laughter.

"No _really_," Xander insisted, dropping out of his indignant stance, "it really wasn't funny, man. I mean," ducking his head, he ran a hand wildly through his hair, "you just don't _do_ shit like that."

"I _don't_?" Spike looked up in mock-surprise, casually leaning back against the pool table "Are y' sure?"

"Of _course_ I'm sure," Xander said, turning back in frustration, "It's right there in the whole guy-rulebook. Page one, Rule #3: Guys don't offer other guys kinky bondage fun in public places."

"Ah," Spike sighed, looking almost dreamily up at the ceiling, "Wot a world it would be if they did though, eh?"

"And I so hope you're still joking."

"Oh _wot_?" Spike turned back to Xander, "I'm not threatenin' yer precious masculinity am I, Harris?"

"What?" Xander drew back, "_No_. I'm just saying—

"Yer jus' sayin' that y' can't take a joke worth crap," Spike finished, pushing away from the table and sticking out a hand. "Fuck, jus' gimme th' money fer th' bloody drinks, will y' mate?"

"I already gave you the money," Xander said, barely refraining from crossing his arms again to pout, "And I can _too_ take a joke."

Spike ignored the last part of that statement completely. "Well, I'm goin' t' need a few more bottles after puttin' up with all this soddin' discrimination now, aren't I?"

"Oh _please_," Xander rolled his eyes, finally moving away to clear the table of their last game and set up another, "You're not even gay."

Spike raised a brow as he watched Xander move. "An' y' know this fer a fact do you?"

"What," pausing in his work, Xander looked up and over at where Spike stood, "you saying you're gay now?"

"Gay, straight," Spike shrugged indifferently, "it's all the same in the end, really."

"Well," Xander tilted his head to consider this, "sure, philosophically, I guess."

"I meant _physically_, dumbass."

"Oh wow, um," Xander licked his lips and stood up straight, wondering how he should explain this, "No offense or anything Spike, but I think you have things a bit confused. See, girls and guys?" looking over at the other man to make sure he got the point, Xander continued as though to a small child, "They're _different_."

Spike was unimpressed, drawling, "No _really?_ I didn't _know_."

"Uh-huh," Xander nodded helpfully, "Different equipment and everything. See," still talking to that small child, "guys have this thing I like to call a pee-pee. Girls, on the other hand—

"Harris," Spike sounding even less impressed then before.

"—they _don't_ have a pee-pee," Xander continued patiently, "They have something called a—"

"Jesus _Christ_, Harris, will y' jus' shut th' fuck _up_?" Spike interrupting in frustration, "I think I should bloody well know th' fuckin' difference between birds and blokes by now, yeah?" he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing for the patience to keep from doing something he'd only regret once the sense of satisfaction cleared.

But Xander had already gotten distracted. "Hey," pointing a finger of discovery, "you do the same thing Giles does."

"Wot?" Spike looked up at the non-sequitor.

"That thing he does," Xander repeated, "You know, when he pinches his nose and prays to the gods of patience?" demonstrating the habit.

"An' this is important?"

"Well . . . no," Xander fidgeted, suddenly feeling kind of dorky. "I just thought it was kinda cool. I mean, 'cuz of th' family resemblance and stuff."

"Right," Spike looking at him as though he were an idiot and Xander fidgeted even more, an uncomfortable moment passing before Xander finally just took out his wallet again and shoved another twenty in Spike's direction.

An answering smirk of satisfaction, "Ta, mate," and the money was quickly pocketed.


	6. Ch 5: Meeting the Friends

I know I took everything down for a while. I thought I was going to be doing a major over haul, but instead I just changed this one chapter and everything else stayed the same. Sorry. But this one change will change things.

--

-

Chapter #5: Meeting the Friends

-

And time still continued on.

Spike finished his transformation from guest to just another of the main cast, Angel became Buffy's ever-elusive yet ever-mentioned mystery man, everyone else grew even more comfortable and easy with the new alterations to routine, and before they knew it a month had passed with Buffy and Angel going strong. And, a month being an unusually long time for both a Buffy romance and no introduction to the significant other, it was decided that Angel would be attending that week's Sunday get-together to meet the entire group.

"Still can't believe I'm fuckin' doin' this," Spike groused, irritably walking beside Xander, the plastic bags of Chinese take-out he held hitting his legs as the two made their way back to Giles' place that evening.

"Well, it's not like I couldn't have done this alone, you know," Xander muttered, his own hands full with drinks, "Nobody asked you to come."

"That right?" Spike raised a brow, "If I remember correctly, mate, _you_ asked me to come. _Begged_ me t' come."

Xander narrowed his eyes at the other in annoyance, "I was talking about the food run, genius."

"Then y' admit t' begging?"

"Of course I don't_,_" Xander said, a touch irritably, "I asked nicely. I didn't beg."

"Y' begged," Spike corrected with a smirk.

"Whatever," Xander rolled his eyes with a huff, "That still doesn't mean I forced you to go for Chinese with me."

"Might as well 'ave," some of Spike's annoyance returning as he remembered the plans for the night, "I'm definitely not going t' sit with th' rest o' yer lot as they natter on 'bout th' bint's bloody new shag-toy."

"Ah . . . the timeless retreat of man from girly overload," Xander nodded knowingly, smirking as his slight annoyance quickly disappeared into amusement. "It all makes sense now."

An increasingly familiar expression of unimpressed disgust appeared on Spike's face. "Git."

Xander chuckled, smiling at the older man as he shifted his hold on the drinks in his hands.

Shaking his head at the boy's amusement, Spike turned back to watching the path. He was honestly somewhat troubled with the feelings that were starting to appear at the sight of that smile. They all seemed to be creeping up more and more these days, emotions vaguely resembling fondness that he just wasn't comfortable with feeling.

The rest of his uncle's little harem generally ignored him, content to let Spike do whatever the hell he wanted so long as it didn't interfere with their busy little lives. Xander was a curious sort though, actively seeking Spike out to buy him booze and ask him about his day.

It was bloody bizarre. Spike just wasn't used to someone that actually seemed concerned about his well-being and state of mind. Even Drusilla, the love of his life, had never really cared about what he thought. (Not that he blamed her or anything. The poor girl was usually too far gone to care about herself never mind someone else.)

But still. For someone to care. That was just new and it, if he could admit it to himself, was quickly becoming addictive. Spike found himself actually _wanting_ to spend time around the boy just so that he could soak in that feeling.

Oh Spike knew he found the boy attractive. The boy was just his type, tall and dark-featured, of course he found him attractive. But these feelings of fondness, these feelings so strangely close to what he felt for Drusilla, those just weren't supposed to be happening. They just weren't.

"Hey, are you okay over there?"

Xander's voice bringing him out of his thoughts, Spike looked up from the pavement and over at the boy indifferently. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" Xander asked again, clearly concerned, "You went quiet and look like you're about to start growling at something."

And damn the boy again for looking like he actually cared, for making it hard to hate him. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to come tonight if you really don't want to," Xander continued, ignoring the answer.

"An' I said I'm fine." Spike snapped irritably. "Needed more t' bug Summers with, anyways, didn't I?" Spike shrugged casually, turning away from that annoyingly open face, "This should be a bloody goldmine."

Xander grinned. "It better be."

--

Buffy had arrived, the mysterious Angel in tow, not too long after Spike and Xander had gone to pick up to the nice Chinese take-out that would serve as dinner for the night, making the couple only an hour late instead of the two hours Buffy had warned them to expect.

Tara sitting quietly at her side, Willow had enthusiastically welcomed the newcomer, firing off questions to satisfy both curiosity and protectiveness, while Giles had taken firm hold of his role as father-figure and studied both Angel's answers and actions intently, asking the occasional question, trying to make sure the boy's intentions were pure. In lack anything better to do, Anya had simply spent her time dreaming up several interesting fantasies starring Angel alongside a variety of attractive males. Not really caring about Buffy's new boyfriend, she was only there for the free food and company.

Giles frowned at the young man seated before him. "I don't believe I quite caught your age."

"Uh," Angel shifted uneasily in his seat on the loveseat, sitting far too close to Buffy for Giles' liking, "I'm 25 actually."

"Oh?" Giles raised a rather eloquent eyebrow at this, and, seeing it, Buffy quickly rushed to her own defense.

"Yeah, but six years really isn't _that_ much of a difference, you know," she said quickly, "And, I mean, who really cares? We're both mature, responsible, adults, right?"

That raised eyebrow turned now in her direction, but Giles still nodded, gracefully allowing the issue to drop for the moment, "Very well. But do please refrain from that particular line of defense until it can be believed."

Glad he wasn't going to make a big deal of the age thing, Buffy put on a look of hurt feelings. "Are you saying I'm not a mature and responsible adult?"

"Of course he is," Anya answered for Giles, looking at Buffy as though she were an idiot, "Xander told me about Mr. Gordo."

Buffy turned to her in shock. "What? No. He actually _told_ you?"

"Who's Mr. Gordo?" Angel asked, confused.

Not wanting him to think she was a little kid, Buffy hurriedly answered, "No one,"

Anya answered more honestly. "It's the disproportionate and stuffed reproduction of a pig she whines at when no one wants to listen to her trivial problems."

Sensing no bad in the man, Tara, trying to get over her shyness, turned to Angel and smiled softly in amusement. "A-Also known as a stuf-stuffed animal."

Being a known good judge of character, Tara's obvious approval and good opinion of Angel went a long way to ease many of Willow and Giles' worries, but they still decided to hold off any further judgment until after Spike and Xander's return, which turned out to be nearly half an hour later.

Casually barging through the front door, Xander stood in the entryway of the living room and held the drinks in his arms a high, announcing, "And we are here, people."

There was a derisive snort from behind him, Spike pushing the younger man out of his way and quickly moving toward where everyone sat to dump his bags of Chinese on the coffee table. "There."

Witnessing this rather ungraceful presentation, Giles looked at his nephew and said dryly, "Yes. Thank you."

Spike glared, "Well, next time, y' should bloody order from a place that delivers, yeah? I'm not yer—" catching sight of the man seated at Buffy's side as Spike moved to take a seat, "_Fuck!_" He took a quick step back, now staring wide-eyed, "Jesus bloody fuckin' _Christ_ . . . Angel?"

Angel's own eyes went wide as he got a good look at Spike. The voice had sounded familiar but he hadn't been able to pinpoint the exact identity until right then. "William?"

No answer, Spike temporarily incapable of deciding just how he should respond to the sight of this particular face. A face he had dreamed of meeting again but never actually expected to see.

"Will?" Angel's voice filling with wonder as he sat forward, "What – what are you doing here?"

Spike didn't answer, still staring at Angel as he tried to sort out his emotions. Gradually a sense of fury was starting to push through his shock and confusion and before anybody knew it he was on Angel, attacking him with his fists. "You . . ." punch to the face, "bloody . . ." uppercut to the chin, "bastard!" right hook to the nose. "I'll kill you!" Angel, caught sitting on the couch with no escape, tried to back away and put up his hands to block Spike's attack, but had no luck.

"You bastard! Get off him!" Buffy screamed, trying to hold onto one of Spike's arms and stop him. Spike shook her off easily and continued to attack Angel.

"Spike!" Xander yelled and quickly dropped the drinks in his hands onto the coffee table and grabbed a hold of Spike, trying to pull him back. "Spike! Stop it!"

Twisting violently, Spike tried to throw Xander off of him, but had no luck. He strained forward; trying to reach Angel again as Angel quickly got off the couch and took a few large steps away from the angry man.

"Spike, stop it! Listen to me!" Xander shouted, holding onto Spike tightly as Spike thrashed, wrapping an arm around Spike's waist and pulling back. Meanwhile everyone else had gotten out of their seats and was staring at Spike in something close to fear. No one had expected this.

"You don't know wot 'e did!" Spike growled, still trying to pull away, glaring death at Angel. "Let . . ." thrash, "me . . ." twist, "go!" Spike pulled at Xander arms, trying to free himself, but Xander held firm.

Xander tightened his hold on Spike threateningly, pulling him back into his chest. "You can't kill him," he said firmly.

"An' why not?" Spike snapped, beginning to calm down. "No one'll miss 'im."

"I think Buffy would."

Spike didn't care about that. "And?"

Sensing that Spike was calming down and cautiously loosening his hold on the other man, Xander turned the older man around to face him. "You can't kill him. You'll go to jail."

Spike still didn't care. It would be worth it. "And?"

Alright so that failed. Xander decided to try it yet another way. "_Why_ do you wanna kill him?" he asked, looking at Spike curiously, "I mean, what did the guy ever do to you?"

"He ruined my life," Spike growled, turning his head to glare at Angel with hate in his eyes. He may have been calming down on the outside, but inside he was clearly just as enraged as before. He was just honing it to a finer, deadlier, point.

"Will . . ." Angel started, bravely taking a step forward and looking at Spike in anguish. "You know I didn—

"Don't talk to me," Spike snarled and Angel stopped speaking, but he didn't stop looking at Spike in anguish. "Stop looking at me," Spike snapped.

"Will— Angel started again.

"I said don't talk to me!" Spike snarled, hands clenching into fists.

Not showing much of a self-preservation instinct, Angel ignored him. "Will, I'm sorr—

Taking two steps forward, Spike punched him one last time across the face. Buffy cried out and hurried to Angel's side to make sure he was all right as Spike quickly left the room.

"Well . . ." Giles said, clearing his throat uncomfortably in the following calm.

Xander stayed looking in the direction of the door, having watched as Spike left the room. "What do you think _that_ was about?" he asked the room in general.

"I don't . . ." Willow said, looking a little frightened from where she and Tara had backed up almost to the wall. "I don't know."

"Do you think he's alright?" Xander asked, still looking in the direction of the door.

"Who cares?" Buffy said angrily, looking up at Xander from her spot next to Angel on the floor. "The bastard can rot in hell. Look what he did to Angel."

"Buffy . . ." Xander said, turning back to her, not wanting her to be angry at him, but still more worried about Spike than angry over Angel's treatment.

"It's not his fault," Angel groaned as he sat up, moving his jaw to make sure it wasn't broken.

"But Angel!" Buffy protested.

"No, really . . . I deserved it."

"Nobody deserves to be beaten like that," Buffy insisted.

Angel shook his head, but didn't say anything. Let Buffy believe what she wanted.

"I'll go get the first aid kit," Anya said and then left to go do as she said.

--

TBC?


	7. Ch6: The Joys of Family Bonding

-

Chapter #6: The Joys of Family Bonding

-

Giles walked into his kitchen the next morning to find Spike sitting at the kitchen table with his head pillowed in his arms. "Oh. Good morning," He still wasn't quite sure how to react to Spike's attack last night, so he'd decided to just ignore it for the moment.

Not looking up, Spike gave a short grunt of acknowledgment.

"I take it that you are feeling better?" Giles asked, referring to last night's anger and busying himself with the teapot. At seven in the morning, he didn't have to be at The Magic Box until almost ten, when the store opened to customers.

Spike shifted, lifting his head up slightly to rest his chin on his arms and give Giles a narrow look. Eyes bloodshot and hair free of his usual gel, he looked horrible. He'd gotten back at almost 3 in the morning after having spent the night down at the local dive, Willy's Bar, binge drinking and starting one or two bar fights. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten to turn off his alarm clock before passing out on his bed and the bloody thing had woken him up at six in the morning. Unable to go back to sleep after this, but definitely feeling the effects of the night before, he'd called into work sick, stumbled into the kitchen to take some aspirin, and hadn't moved since.

Still messing with the teapot, Giles continued to prepare his breakfast, oblivious of his nephew's less than stellar condition. "Have you had breakfast yet? I could make you some porridge if you'd like."

A sound of disgust at the thought of eating any of that mush, and Spike went back to hiding his head in the confines of his arms.

"How about tea?"

A grumbled, "Nuh . . ."

The kitchen descended into silence for a few moments, the atmosphere between the uncomfortable with subtle tension as Giles took a seat across from Spike, tea in hand and breakfast before him on the table. Another uncomfortable moment passing as Giles ate quietly.

His eyes inevitably drawn to Spike's hunched over form, Giles found himself watching the other in both worry and curiosity. More than any other difference shown in the past few weeks, last night had made the distance between his nephew William and the young man Spike only far too clear. William was a sweet little boy from England. This Spike was a complete stranger, one willing to beat up an acquaintance's boyfriend at a look and with a whole life out there which Giles knew nothing about. Eight years as a runaway and almost twelve years since Giles had been forced out of his life. He'd known that was a long time, but up till now he hadn't quite realized just how much could have happened during it. The questions that had occasionally come to bother him over Spike's short stay were re-presenting themselves, and this time they were stronger than before and Giles was paying them more than a passing nod.

Just why had William run away? What exactly could have happened between the boy and his father? What could he have spent his time doing as a runaway? What had he done for food, clothing, and lodgings? What could have inspired such anger? How had he gotten to the States? To California? How had he found Giles' whereabouts?

"If yer jus' goin' t' keep staring at me, I'm goin' t' leave."

"Oh. Sorry," Giles looked down into his cup of tea, slightly embarrassed. He hadn't realized he had been staring for so long.

"Yeah sure . . ." Spike grumbled and ran a hand through his hair, sitting up in his seat. The aspirin was finally beginning to set in and he was feeling marginally better, enough to chance the light of the kitchen.

"Good heavens," Giles said, looking up from his tea and getting his first glance at Spike's appearance that morning, "Are you okay?"

Spike shook his head gingerly, testing his boundaries, and explained shortly, "Hangover."

"Oh. Yes. Right," Giles nodded, this answer reminding him again of last night's events and he looked to Spike in question. "About that. I'd been meaning to ask you about last night and your . . . well . . . rather strong reaction to – to Buffy's guest."

Propping an elbow up on the table, Spike rested his head in a palm and let the question run through his somewhat muddled head. "Angel."

"Yes."

A pause as Spike seemed to consider this. "Jus' wot do y' want t' know?"

"Well . . ." Giles trailed off. He didn't know what he wanted know. Or he didn't know how to ask about what he wanted to know. Finally he just decided to start with a broad question and work his way down to the specifics when he could better figure which line of questioning would not set Spike off. "Who is he?"

"He's Angel," Spike answered, looking back at Giles with a bit of a smirk, figuring it only fair that he have to work for his answers.

For a moment there was an expectant silence, the two just looking at each other, until Giles finally realized that Spike would not be adding any more to that answer. "Yes. Fine. That question _was_ a tad broad, wasn't it? I think what I really meant to ask was, well . . . who is he to you? How did you know him?"

A casual shrug and Spike settled back easily in his chair. "We met up in London, didn't we? Went t' a club or two together."

"A club or two . . . ?" Giles asked, trailing off expectantly, and then let out a sigh when Spike once again refrained from expanding upon a thought. "Of course. Then, if you don't mind, if you two were nothing more than mere acquaintances, as it sounds, just what was it that so upset you last night?"

"Well, he cheated me at poker, didn't he?"

Giles frowned, taking in Spike's completely straight face. As though that was actually what had happened and Giles had no reason to think otherwise. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. 200 pounds, the wanker," Spike even managed to sound offended by it.

"Wil – Spike . . ." Giles started then looked down into his ignored cup of tea, trying to find the words, "Look . . . I . . . I understand that we haven't seen each other in awhile and . . . and that things may – may be different for you now, but . . ."

And Spike had an idea of where _this_ was going to go. "Oh fuck no . . ."

". . . that doesn't mean that I'm not here, or –or that I won't listen. And . . . and I'll admit that yesterday was something of an eye-opener for me. It was . . . It made me realize just h – how much I . . . well, how much I simply don't know about you anymore. And . . . ." and here Giles took a deep breath, "And how much I want to."

Silence.

Then: "No."

"I'm sorry?" Giles asked, getting up the courage to look up from his cup.

"I said no," Spike repeated, expression hardening and he glared at Giles, "You don't . . . you don't get that. I don't . . ." he shook his head, "No. Just no."

"Will—

"Shut up," he snapped. Still dealing with a hangover and the confrontation with Angel, Spike's temper was running even shorter than usual and he was now suddenly infuriated, "You can't just . . . just _say_ things like – like . . . and god, you were," turning away, he cut himself off before he could say anything more incriminating and clenched his hands into fists, ". . . you _fuck._"

"I . . ." Giles drew back in his seat, at a loss as to what he had said to make Spike this angry.

"You . . . y' fuckin' bloody 'lil—" cutting himself off again, Spike climbed to his feet, "Look. Let's jus' get this straight 'ere, yeah? I didn't come 'ere to renew any of the old family _bonds_," the word spat in disgust, "I'm 'ere fer th' bloody money. Nothing else."

"I don't—

"Don't. Just don't," Spike interrupted, "Don't y' bloody even try. I don't want anything t' do wit' that, yeah?" turning to quickly leave the room and house, "Keep me out o' yer bloody disgustin' little fantasies."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Giles sitting alone in the kitchen. A moment taken to stare after Spike's retreating back, Giles then gave a tired sigh and looked back down into his cup of tea. "Well that certainly could've gone better."

--

After leaving the house, Spike had wanted to get some more to drink. But, besides the fact that the only bar open at this time of day was Willy's, he knew that he couldn't afford to have a second round of binge drinking. So, having nothing else to do, he had eventually ended up on a park bench, slouched irritably with his legs splayed open and a fag in hand, wearing an expression of extreme hate.

Over his hangover, he looked much better than that morning but his hair was still gel-free, he having stormed out of the house without putting it in, meaning that he now looked like a complete idiot. This had only made him angrier when he had realized it, and after everything else in his day, he had not needed anything else.

First his uncle's attempt at family bonding and deep conversation, then leaving in a blind attempt to get away only to rediscover the complete lack of anything to do in Sunnydale, and then the lovely reminder of the fact that he was dead broke and any money he did make couldn't be used for himself so even if there had been something to do or drink he wouldn't have been able to afford it. And he was now being forced to sit still and do nothing, refusing to go return to Giles' place and resigning himself to a bad hair day.

He hated this town more than ever.

Now that he'd come to discover that Angel (of all the people on this bloody planet, _Angel_) was not only horribly alive and healthy, but also in town and doing good for himself. In Spike's opinion that discovery had plunged this godawful town to the level of Hell on Earth. Thankfully less hot than the fiery pits but also much more boring.

He wouldn't have minded so much if Angel had done the half-decent thing and lived in the sewers eating rats. But no, of course not, the blighter simply had to live the life of luxury, a pretty chit at his side, a nice place to live, more than enough food on his plate, and a very expensive and utterly useless higher education.

That last one was what bothered him the most. Because really, what had he been thinking? Yes, let's throw this 30,000 dollars at those ponces over there in the black robes. That's a good idea. Go ahead, just shower them in money. God knows one can't doodle without that special piece of paper. The horror.

Bastard

And then his uncle. Things had been going just fine on that front. He had a place to sleep and food on the table, suffer through that one Sunday meeting and that was pretty much the extent of his contact with the man. Why did he have to choose now to suddenly get all touchy-feely?

Oh. Right. That had been Angel's fault too. Spike goes on a bit of a rampage one night and suddenly Giles wants to know everything about him. Great.

How the hell had Angel even gotten here? And what were the chances that he'd not only choose this town out of all the others, but that he'd also choose Buffy out all of the girls?

Maybe Spike had actually died and this was the real Hell. That would make more sense.

"Hey."

Startled out of his increasingly negative thoughts, Spike was surprised to find that at some time Xander had appeared and was sitting on the opposite side of his bench.

"Wot're you doing 'ere?"

"Was just taking a walk and thought I'd come over and say 'Hey'," Xander said, looking around the area curiously.

"Which you've done." A clear dismissal. Spike was still a little pissed at Xander for stopping him last night and didn't want the kid around. He would get over it though.

"Yeah, I did, huh?" Xander smiled at him inanely then went back to examining the surroundings, "I think I like this bench. Good view. Solid workmanship." He smiled down at the bench and gave it an approving pat.

Hearing this, Spike narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Wot do y' want?"

"Nothing," Xander looked surprised at the suspicion, "Why? Should I be wanting something?"

"Yer here fer sumthin. Wot is it?"

Xander gave him a dirty look. "God, rude much?"

Spike said nothing, turning away to take a drag from his fag, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he watched a mother go by with a buggy. After spending enough time with the boy, he'd discovered that if a person was quiet enough for long enough Harris would probably answer anything.

And finally, after a long silence, deliberately made as uncomfortable as possible, his patience was rewarded. "Oh fine. Whatever." Xander rolled his eyes and shifted irritably on the bench. "Giles sent me."

"Giles sent you," Spike repeated to make sure he'd gotten that correctly, looking over at the boy suspiciously.

Xander nodded. "Yeah."

"How?" Spike asked, "He doesn't know where I am."

"Well, okay. Not really sent, as in _sent_," Xander allowed, "He just kinda called me up and said that if I happened to see you around town that I should stop and see if you were alright," he said, looking over at Spike, "Said you guys had a fight, and he seems to be under some delusion that you'd actually share your feelings with me." Xander shook his head at the craziness.

"Bloody 'ell," Spike muttered, ignoring the last bit of the explanation, "He didn' tell y' wot it was about too, did 'e?"

"Not really. He just said that you seemed upset."

Spike's expression darkened. "Of course, he did."

Noticing the anger there, Xander attempted a save. "He's just worried about you."

"Worried . . ." And that just seemed to set Spike off even more. Xander didn't understand it.

"Yeah. Worried. I don't know about in England, but here in America that's a good thing," Xander said, giving Spike a weird look, "It means a person cares whether you live or die."

And that didn't seem to make Spike any less angry. "Chose a good time to start showing it," grumbled before Spike could even realize he'd thought it. And that was just great. He might as well have broadcast it. Let everyone know what a complete nancy boy he was. Hastily returning his fag to his mouth, Spike tried to act as though he hadn't said anything and hoped the boy had missed his accidental admission.

Unfortunately, Xander had done no such thing and was actually looking shocked by the slip-up. It made sense though, Xander figured, what with the whole runaway thing.

"Well, in all fairness to the G-man, I don't think he could do the caring-thing with you around to see it when you weren't, you know, around to see it."

A derisive snort, Spike, not trusting himself to not spill more if he opened his mouth, kept his attention focused on the path in front of him and smoking furiously.

"And hey, at least he's trying, right?" Xander continued, "That's gotta get some points." And, yeah, there might've been some bitterness in there. He quickly pasted on a goofy grin in defiance of it.

Spike glanced in Xander's direction at the hint of something like depth to the smiling idiot, found himself looking at only a smiling idiot, and turned his attention back to the path in front of him. "If y' say so."

"And I do." Xander nodded decisively, the two lapsing into an only slightly uncomfortable silence.

Finally Spike just had to ask, wanting Xander to go away and leave him alone, "Don't y' have t' somewhere else t' be, right now?"

And here, Xander looked a bit sheepish. "Sadly, no. I really don't."

"No job?" Spike raised a brow meaningfully.

Xander smiled at him, a little embarrassed. "Got fired again."

A moment as Spike digested this and then turned away, muttering to himself in disgust. "Of course you did."

--

TBC?


	8. Interlude: The Early Days

-

Interlude: The Early Days

-

_December 19, 1990—two years later_

Bundled up against the cold weather in gloves, his old winter coat, and a scarf, William hurried down the busy streets of central London in search of the correct metro station, rudely pushing his way through the crowds of people rushing to get their Christmas shopping done.

He'd finished his shopping weeks ago—a new winter coat for Mrs. Preston, one of the family maids, a book on gardening for Prof. Buton, his English teacher, and a relatively nice paperweight for Father that he had grabbed from a thrift store bin in passing. Some would say he had stolen that last present, but he firmly believed that anyone who paid for an item meant to hold down paper was a moronic twat and that no one would miss the measly two pounds the store was trying to steal from the general public.

Besides, he may have been going out of his way to give his father a present out of some sort of utterly stupid sense of family obligation, but that didn't mean he necessarily had to go so far as to spend his own money on the wanker. Call him selfish and ungrateful, William had stopped caring for the opinion of his piss-poor excuse for a family unit long ago. And at his age, 13 whole years, he figured that he was old enough to do and think whatever he wanted. It was less than three years until he finished secondary school after all. He was practically an adult.

Finally catching sight of a sign marking an entrance to the Underground, he hurried down the steps and pushed his way past the electronic ticket-taker. Having snuck out of the house alone, William had needed to be home nearly an hour ago and he was just thanking the gods that Father was on a business trip to France for most of the week. Father gone, only a good number of the servants he gave the duty of spy remained, and as it was the holiday season even these spies had gone home to their families. There was still the chance of running into one of the three remaining though, and it was just good sense to try to get through the Underground ahead of the crowds, hence his current hurried flight home after looking down at his watch to find that he was far past curfew.

And a half-hour later, William walked through the front doors of his father's small estate just outside the city, with seemingly no one around but the butler to comment and apparently right on time for the mail.

"Letter for you, Master William," said Mr. Orland, the butler, swooping down on him before the door had even closed. Not a spy as far as William knew, and he tended to stay out of everyone's business so everything was okay.

"Really?" he asked, tugging off his gloves and only grudgingly allowing Mr. Orland to help him out of his coat when the man came forward. He'd learned not to fight when it came to the unwritten tasks of a butler. He would always lose, and it was just slightly ridiculous to imagine getting into a tussle with a butler. "Who from?" He didn't get many letters.

"Master Rupert, sir."

"Oh . . ." Hearing this, any excitement vanished and he frowned in displeasure, though it really should have been expected. It was the holidays after all, and Mr. Orland always seemed to be the one to find Uncle Rupert's letters and packages, despite any attempts that William may have made when he was younger, still excited about the prospect of a word from Uncle Rupert, and he had gone through the mail repeatedly in search for that one magical letter. "Well . . . I suppose I could take a look at it, then."

"Excellent," and William was suddenly holding an envelope. Then, after needlessly informing him that supper would begin at promptly 6 o'clock as usual, Mr. Orland went on his way, leaving William alone in the entranceway to stare at the neat handwriting of a long absent uncle.

Ever since he had been 11yrs old and Father had first forced Uncle Rupert to leave forever, William had been receiving these letters. First they had come almost every week, making sure that he was still alright in the wake of his mother's death, but then they had begun to arrive less and less. After they had fallen to arriving only every two weeks, he had told himself that this was perfectly fine and completely expected. Then the letters had fallen to arriving only one every month and he had told himself that this was simply a mistake; that the post office had lost a letter or two, or that Uncle Rupert had simply been too busy with work and that the number of letters would surely return to the normal amount when everything had settled down. But then the letters had fallen to once every other month, and then had settled into a pattern of only arriving with every major holiday and birthday, always carrying along with it a present of some sort. And of course as time passed even those presents had fallen to the level of individual checks shoved into a card.

Needless to say, William had not been very impressed with any of this.

He had aunts and uncles he had never even met who would send him letters with checks shoved in them every major holiday and birthday. Impersonal letters and money were the obligatory gift for every family member that you knew existed, sent only as a polite gesture. That Uncle Rupert had fallen to that low when William was still sending page-long letters and thoughtful gifts when expected was practically insulting.

This year William had barely even bothered to try to write. There simply was no point in making the effort when it was becoming clearer with each letter that Uncle Rupert no longer truly cared.

Shaking his head, he came out of his bitter musings and began to make his way to his room to read the letter in privacy. Walking down the hallway, turning the first corner, and slipping into his room, he casually kicked the door shut as he tore at the envelope and plopped down on his bed. Taking the card out, he opened it to find a check for 100 pounds, which wasn't a bad amount of money really, so William decided to give the actual letter a chance.

_Dear William_—he read

_I fear that this letter will be no different than any other of my most recent letters to you, and I am truly sorry for both my brevity and my simply horrid _

_writing ability. I am obviously far too much of an academic to be good with the creative and personal word, and this is made no easier by the years _

_that have passed since we have last seen each other. From your letters it is only far too clear that you have grown so much and changed in so many ways. I _

_simply have no clue as to how address this new distance between us. It is entirely my own fault of course. Had I a better mind for letters or, dare I say, had I_

_never left you at all, this situation would have never come about in the first place._

_But there is no time for what ifs or what could have beens, and you most likely do not wish to read the apologetic ramblings of an aging man. It is Christmas after all _

_and things should be happy._

_I hope that you are well, that your father has been treating you kindly, and that your school days have been pleasant ones. How is your friend Robert? And that_

_young girl Cecily?_

_I am sure you are doing splendidly in your classes. Have you written anything lately? I do remember that one beautiful poem you wrote last Christmas—the _

_one published in the class bulletin—but I have unfortunately not read any of your more recent works. It would be lovely to see what you are doing. _

_I regret to say that I have unfortunately drawn yet another blank as to what you could possibly want for Christmas and so have enclosed a check for 100 pounds. _

_Buy yourself whatever you wish and have a happy Christmas._

_Sincerely, _

_ Uncle Rupert_

-

The wording sounding familiar, it took a moment for him to recognize it as almost an exact copy of his last letter, for his birthday. William's face twisted in disgust at this realization, but he actually wasn't all that surprised.

Always asking the generic questions, always sending the generic presents, continuing year by year to obey the moronic commands of the oh-so-mighty David Mathers without a second thought even when knowing _exactly_ how much of a cold bastard Father was, and then not even bothering to put a single drop of thought into even the most impersonal letter full of the same old excuses for his own behavior . . . His friend Robert no longer even attended the same school as him. Who was his uncle trying to kid here?

William had held on for so long, but this was really the last straw. Obviously, this was the end of his "Beloved Uncle Rupert." Angrily, he crunched the letter into a ball and tossed it at his waste basket, missing entirely.

Fine. If the man wanted to act like one of them, so be it. Uncle Rupert was just another Giles to him now.

--

TBC?


	9. Ch 7: In the Kitchen Again

-

Chapter #7: In the Kitchen Again

-

After Spike had punched Angel and stormed out of the house the night before, the party pretty much died a quick and silent death. Along with the unspoken curiosity filling the room over the bad relationship between Angel and Spike, both Giles and Angel had gone quiet and were noticeably beginning to brood, creating an uncomfortable tension in the room as the others noticed these reactions but tried to pretend that they hadn't. And with this tension in the air the party barely lasted for another hour, everyone making strained and awkward conversation until dinner was finally finished, the table cleared, and they could make their escapes without seeming rude.

After they had made their own good-byes Buffy had asked Angel about Spike of course, worried about how Angel was acting, but Angel had just said that he didn't wanted to talk about it and so Buffy had relented for the moment, walking him home and staying the night to give what comfort she could. But sooner or later, she _would_ be getting her answers, whether Angel liked it or not.

Now it was the next morning, Monday so neither of their classes would start until almost noon, and Buffy had woken up to find Angel no longer in bed. Wondering where he could have gotten to, she swung her naked legs over the side of the bed and grabbed a pair of Angel's boxers and one of her own small tank-tops from the floor, slipping them on and wandering into the small kitchen of Angel's modest one-bedroom apartment. Immediately finding Angel seated at the small kitchen table, hunched over a cup of coffee and staring into its dark brown depths with an absorbed frown, she greeted him with a peck on the check. "Morning."

"Mmhmm," was the sleepy reply, Angel being too focused on his coffee to give any better answer. Unable to sleep, he had stayed up late into the night, tossing and turning as memories played out in his head.

Rolling her eyes tolerantly, Buffy went to grab a box of cereal from one of the cupboards and set about making her own breakfast, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and plopping down in the seat across from Angel at the table. Spooning some cereal into her mouth, she examined her boyfriend's downward facing head, the dark hair free of all gel for once and laying straight. She could now see just how tired he looked and she worried. The bruising seemed to be going down though, so that was good.

"Are you going to drink that any time soon or do you just wanna stare at it all day?"

"Huh?" Angel asked, finally tearing his attention away from his drink to notice her existence, blinking at her in confusion.

"I said," she swallowed a mouthful of cereal, looking back at him, "Are you going to drink that any time soon or do you just wanna stare at it all day?"

"Oh . . . I, uh," he looked down at his cup, "I think I might have to just stare at it actually. It's gone cold."

"How long have you been up?"

"Don't know," he answered, sitting up straighter in his seat and closing his eyes as he rubbed his neck tiredly, "What time is it?"

Buffy swallowed another mouthful of cereal and glanced over at the microwave clock. "10: 27," she read, frowning. That didn't seem right somehow. "We should probably start getting ready for class."

"Oh. No. That's from the microwave, right?" Angel asked, looking over at the appliance in question. "That thing's been broken for awhile. We should still have some time."

And this was her chance to ask what she'd wanted to since last night. "Enough time for you to tell me the deal between you and Spike?"

"Buffy . . ." the hint of a request to just drop it as Angel turned back to her.

"No, really," she insisted stubbornly, "I mean it. What's the deal?"

"Buffy, I already told you," Angel said, getting up from his seat to dump his cold coffee down the sink, "I don't want to talk about it." He poured himself a new cup from the coffee machine.

"Yeah, but I do, okay?" she said, maybe a bit too forcefully, "You seem depressed, and I strangely have a bit of a problem with that. I'm not asking you to tell me what got Spike so upset, or why you were so depressed afterwards or anything like that if you don't want to tell me. Even if I _am_ majorly curious about what you could've possibly done to him. I just wanna know how you knew him or whatever. I mean, you haven't exactly been Mr. Talky with your past and stuff, you know? Were you friends or something? Though why you would be friends with that bastard, I don't know."

"No, I . . ." Angel returned to his seat and trailed off in indecision over what to say or if he even should say. Finally deciding that she deserved the truth if they were going continue seeing each other, he slowly began to speak, keeping his eyes locked on the table top, "You have to understand. I . . . I was different back then. I don't exactly like to talk about it because I'm really not proud of how I acted. I was horrible back then. Absolutely horrible. Quick-tempered and brash . . . incredibly immature . . . I was basically a complete bastard to everyone around me but the _very_ select few I liked . . . and I . . ." He sighed, shaking his head in regret, and took a moment before he continued. "I got into a lot of fights . . . most of them started by me. And there really wasn't any reason for me to beat them so badly. I just did. It was _fun."_ His hands clenched into fists on the table as he remembered, "God, some of them had needed to go to the hospital and I hadn't even _cared_. I—" disgusted with himself, he cut himself off from saying anything else, ducking his head as he remembered Buffy's presence and readied himself for the disgust and hatred that he so rightly deserved from her.

Buffy only looked at him in sympathy, reaching out to touch one of his hands comfortingly. "Sounds like Spike."

"Yeah. So I've heard," he said, noticeably drawing in on himself as he remembered the stories she had told him of her mentor's annoying nephew and only looked more depressed. Spike's true name had never been mentioned in any of these stories, and it had been a shock to Angel to finally realize that all of the mean and vulgar things she would complain about had been being done and said by William all along. "But Will was pretty different back then too. I definitely remember calling him prudish and soft more than once."

And now _that_ was weird. Buffy couldn't help but smile at the idea, despite Angel's complete seriousness. "Spike prudish?" she asked in amusement, "But he's a complete man-whore."

"Not back then." Angel shook his head, looking pained, and, seeing his still depressed expression, Buffy felt her amusement quickly disappear.

"So how'd you guys meet then?" she asked when her expression was once more sympathetic.

Angel shot her a quick glance. "Do you remember when I told you about the orphanage I grew up in?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, after I left there, I ended up in England. Met up with some street kids and decided to hang around for a while." He shrugged uncomfortably, still looking down at the table, "One of the girls met him in an alley one day and dragged him over to . . ." and here he seemed to freeze, tongue caught on the next word as he blinked in stunned realization. Snapping his head up to look Buffy straight in the eyes, entire demeanor changing in an instant, he asked urgently, "Will hasn't mentioned anyone named Drusilla has he? He might have been calling her Dru?"

Surprised by the sudden transformation, Buffy tried to rapidly think back on previous conversations with Spike. There hadn't been many. "Not that I remember."

"What about the name Darla?" Angel pressed, "Does that sound familiar?"

"No," Buffy shook her head, looking at him in concern, "Why?"

Shit, Angel thought, ignoring her question. "And there was nobody with him the night he arrived?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

And Buffy shook her head again. "No. Just him."

_Shit_, Angel thought again, this time more furiously than before. There was no way this could be a good thing.

He needed to talk to Will.

--

After a few more moments spent sitting on the bench in semi-uncomfortable silence, Xander had finally gotten bored and asked Spike over to his apartment. Bored out of his mind himself, and not wanting to go home to Giles' place, Spike had agreed and the two had wasted the rest of the day watching TV and movies, eating junk food and pizza, and trying to put that little scene on the bench far behind them through the age-old macho male technique of drinking beer (bought by Spike with Xander's money on the way back to the apartment) and mocking everything in sight.

Neither Spike nor Xander were very comfortable with acknowledging that they had emotions, even if only to themselves, and both had a tendency to over-react whenever they thought that they had accidentally let someone see even the smallest sign of weakness. Case in point: that one Halloween Buffy had defended him from his frequent high-school bully Larry, in public even, and he had immediately gone out to buy an Army-guy costume complete with gun and had then spent the entire night going around in macho over-drive, trying to act like an Army hard-ass. Not one of his best moments, but he had gotten to punch Larry, which had been cool.

Spike could even admit to himself that the day hadn't turned out so horrible in the end. Harris had provided a good distraction from reality.

Eventually though, Spike had needed to leave, which he did reluctantly, a bit wary of returning to the house only to find Giles hovering by the front door ready to continue the conversation from that morning. And walking through the door at nearly 9 o' clock, he gave the clock a disgusted look, finding a second reason to be grateful to Harris. Those few beers he'd managed to get out of the boy had gotten him much more relaxed, making it possible to stomach both the early hour and the revolting sense of responsibility making him come home in the first place. He had work tomorrow and needed sleep.

"You got a message," Giles' voice suddenly coming out of nowhere and Spike almost jumped. Looking over at where the man stood in the entranceway to the sitting room, Spike eyed him suspiciously. How had he not noticed him there?

"Yeah?" Spike asked, careful to stay far out of reach, "Who from?"

"Angel," Giles answered, thankfully not moving from where he stood. "He apparently wants to talk to you."

Spike gave a derisive snort. "Right." Like he would actually listen to anything that wanker had to say.

"It seemed important."

"Don't care."

"Right," and the two lapsed into an incredibly uncomfortable silence, each staring at the other. Giles was watching him with what looked like hesitance warring with the need to talk, and Spike was trying to decide if he wanted to hear whatever the man had to say. Depending on what it was, Spike might have to just throw away his whole plan and leave Sunnydale altogether. Maybe he should just retreat into his room and leave dealing with whatever new crap his uncle was about to spout for later. Yeah, good idea, Spike thought, the decision made, and he turned to leave.

"Wait," Giles called and Spike felt himself pause, grimacing.

"I just wanted to apologize for this morning," said into the following silence to no answer. Giles had actually spent his whole day worrying on the subject and needed to get the words out into the air before he either lost his courage or drove himself insane.

At home and at the Magic Box, the memory of that short spat in the kitchen replaying in his head, Giles had wondered what he had said wrong, what had so upset Spike. This question answered as his memories of earlier days came to the fore, allowing him multiple wrongs to choose from, his thoughts had then moved to worrying about how to fix the situation and win back his nephew's trust.

He truly had felt horrible for essentially deserting the boy when he was younger.

The truth was that William had never known the true extents to which his father had attempted to rid the boy of Giles' supposed evil influence. The man had hated him, had hated his reputation as the family oddity and rebel, had hated Giles' continued high stature in the family hierarchy despite it, and had most likely just hated Giles all the more when William continually made it clear that he preferred his "Uncle Rupert" over his own father.

And so when William had complained of his father's increasingly strict rules, and then subsequently boasted of how he planned to escape the rules he considered rubbish, Giles had had the thought that maybe his continued contact with his nephew was doing him more ill than good. While Giles was definitely more of the mind that William was acting out in a cry for help due to the death of his mother and then to the increasing rules put forth by his father, Giles also couldn't help but wonder if maybe he actually _had_ been influencing William, if only indirectly. It was entirely possible that his letters were planting the misconception in William's mind that disobeying his father was both possible and okay, as shown by the continued correspondence with a man his father had labeled as forbidden. And it was entirely possible that without the letters, without William's continued fondness for his father's worst enemy, David would be more confident of his place in his son's life and would relax his stranglehold on the boy, making life at home much easier.

It had been a decision he made with only the best interests of William in mind, he would tell himself later. It was for William's own happiness that he pulled away.

Giles could never quite forget though, that it hadn't hurt that this decision would serve to make his own life much easier also.

Giles had been growing increasingly uncomfortable with following David's orders over the years and his guilt would only increase every time he heard of a new punishment, every time David's frustration and desperation made William's life just that much worse and Giles still continued to do nothing. Drawing away from the boy in his letters was made almost easy by his hatred of, and incredulity at, the fact that, if he wanted to contact his own nephew at all, Giles would have to keep the contact secret. David's rule over his household was strict at best, almost tyrannical at worst, and it had simply been ridiculous to be forced to find people in the house willing to smuggle (smuggle!) letters and packages into the house as though they were drugs to be sold on the black market.

It had simply been easier for everyone, the servants acting as smugglers included, if his correspondence with William stopped.

Now, though, staring at the bitter man William had become, watching as that man noticeably asked himself as to whether he even wanted to _bother_ with the old man Giles himself had become, Giles had no doubt that while it may have been the easiest decision, made with the best of intentions, it had also been in no way the correct thing to do.

And it seemed like that one apology he had just uttered was not helping the situation because while it may have made Spike turn around, it had not prompted him to speak. A silent Spike, how ironic that the same sight he had many times wished so desperately for over the past weeks was now quickly turning into something he wished to never see again.

"It was foolish of me," Giles continued bravely forward, looking straight into Spike's eyes, "to believe that after all of these years apart, you would not hold a slight resentment for me. And I . . ." he faltered slightly, "I suppose I had just assumed that because you had relented to come here at all that, well . . ." he shrugged helplessly, looking up at Spike again for some type of answer.

Nothing came.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "And you probably won't want to hear this, but I truly had thought that cutting off all contact was for the best."

And that definitely caught Spike's attention. "Wot?"

"I had thought that cutting off all contact with you was for the best," Giles repeated patiently, just thankful for this sign that Spike was even listening to him.

"Bullocks," Spike said, obviously not believing him, "Y' jus' didn' want t' answer me anymore."

"No. Will – Spike, listen," Giles took a step forward as he tried to explain. "I had thought that if you showed a dislike of me then your father would act less strict. And as I couldn't simply stop responding to your letters all together I had to make it so you would no longer _want_ to receive any—"

Spike shook his head. "It weren't anything like that."

"I'm telling you the truth," Giles implored earnestly, "How can I get you to believe me?"

"Y' don't," Spike said bluntly, "None o' this even bloody matters. It don't change nuthin', does it?"

Giles looked helpless. "I just want—

"Y' jus' _want_ us t' be all hand-holdy an' shit," Spike interrupted impatiently, looking at Giles in disgust. "Sittin' round th' bleedin' kitchen table braiding each other's hair, being all family-like. Maybe go frolickin' through th' fuckin' daisies singin' songs t' th' bloody birds when we're done. Didn't I tell you t' keep me out o' yer bloody disgustin' 'lil fantasies?"

"No, I . . ." Giles struggled to find words, but what could he really say to something like that? Spike seemed determined to turn everything he said against him. So Giles just sighed, defeated for the moment, "Yes. Yes, you did. You've made your opinion on the subject very clear," rubbing his brow tiredly, "That wasn't what I was trying to say though," he said, looking back up at Spike, "Yes, I may greatly wish to get to know you again, but I honestly don't expect anything. I simply wished to apologize and now that I have, I suppose I should take my leave." He nodded at Spike genially and moved toward the stairs. "Have a good night."

Spike frowned at his uncles' departing back, slightly perplexed by his behavior. He had honestly expected Giles to put up a bigger fight than that.

"Wanker," Spike finally muttered after a few minutes had passed with no Giles coming back downstairs. Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, he found himself uneasy with the lack of pressure Giles had left him with. It made him wonder what the old man was trying to pull.

Had he really meant it?

--

TBC?


	10. Ch 8: Four Steps Toward Confrontation

-

Chapter # 8: Four Steps Toward Confrontation

-

**Tuesday**

After his and Giles' argument/conversation the night before, Spike had been tempted to leave town and just avoid Giles and Angel altogether. _Very_ tempted.

Quickly thinking this through though, he had realized that doing this—quitting his job, buying gas for his car, leaving town, finding another place to live, paying for that place to live, finding another job, then paying for everything else needed for survival—it would only waste every bit of cash he had managed to save so far. So he decided to stay where he was.

After all, staying with Giles wasn't completely horrible. He had a free place to live, free food, a steady income from multiple sources, and Xander Harris for free booze and tolerable company. Plus, after yesterday, Spike wouldn't even be surprised if his uncle started bending over backwards in his guilt, buying Spike whatever he wanted and obeying his every whim. Really, if you got right down to it, Spike had it made.

And people said he couldn't think positively.

Kicking the front door closed behind him after another long and boring day of work, Spike crouched down to untie his work shoes, standing up and kicking them off as he made his way back to his bedroom to change out of his uniform. Walking back out to the front of the house as he pulled a shirt over his head, he entered the kitchen for a bite to eat. Grabbing a bag of crisps from the cupboard, a biscuit from the Tupperware container sitting on the counter, and a bottle of water from the ice-box, he turned, planning on throwing himself on the sitting room sofa and lazing about for an hour or two before his almost daily trek to the Bronze to scam college kids out of their money. Half-way out of the kitchen though, he happened to glance in the direction of the phone and saw the blinking red light of the answering machine. Curious, he shoved the biscuit into his mouth, freeing his right hand of its burden, and reached out to push the message play-back button.

"_You have ONE new message. Tuesday. Two Fifty-Nine, PM_," came the mechanical voice, followed by a beep, and then a familiar male voice, "Uh, yeah, hi. Will? This is Angel. I—_BEEP,_" Spike pressed another button, cutting him off, "_Deleted._"

Spike removed the biscuit from his mouth and took a large bite, leaving the room without a backwards glance.

--

**Wednesday**

"_CLICK_," the sound of the answering machine turning on, "_You have THREE new messages."_

-

"_Wednesday. One O-Five, PM . . . BEEP . . . _Hi. Will? It's Angel. I guess you didn't get yesterday's message either. I really need to talk to you. Again, my number's 555-5623. Call me. _BEEP_"

-

"_Wednesday. Four Thirty-Two, PM . . . BEEP . . . _Hi. It's Angel again. I figured you'd be home by now but I guess not. Call me when you get this. _BEEP_"

-

"_Wednesday. Five Sixteen, PM . . . BEEP . . . _Giles? Hi! It's Willow. I was just looking at this book I bought from the Magic Box and I had some questions. In a spell for binding, what's the difference between using string and yarn? Does the color of the yarn matter or can it be any color? I really don't want to accidentally use the wrong color and end up making some person my love-slave. That'd be kind of embarrassing, don't you think?—_giggle_—Thanks Giles! Bye! _BEEP"_

--

**Thursday**

_Diiing-Dong-Diiing_

It was late afternoon, nearly early evening, and Giles had been relaxing in his armchair with a mystery novel and a hot cup of tea when he heard the sound of his doorbell. Sighing, he put his book and tea to the side and climbed out of his chair to answer the door. Hopefully it was simply Willow with a few more questions and not one of those damned door to door salesmen.

It turned out to be neither.

"Uh . . . good afternoon, Mr. Giles." Looking incredibly awkward, Angel scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "I was . . . looking for Will. Is he here?"

Giles raised a brow. "No, I'm afraid that _Spike_," the correction far from subtle, "is out for the moment."

"Oh . . ." Disappointed, Angel lowered his hand and frowned, "Do you know when he'll be back?"

Leaning against the doorframe, Giles watched Angel unsympathetically. "He didn't say."

"Then do you know where he is right now?"

"No," Giles not trying to be even the least bit helpful.

Angel blinked at the blunt reply, "Um . . . okay. Then could you tell him that I came by? It's important."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Mr. Giles." Angel awkwardly attempted a small smile in thanks. He had a pretty good feeling that Will wasn't going to be answering this message either.

--

**Friday**

"_CLICK_," the sound of the answering machine turning on, "_You have FIVE new messages."_

-

"_Friday. Three Twenty-Five, PM . . . BEEP . . . _Will? This is Angel again. I went over to your house yesterday but you weren't there and I guess you didn't get the message again. Or something. Please just call me, will you? I mean it. I just want to talk."

-

"_Friday. Three Fifty-Nine, PM . . . BEEP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CLICK"_

_-_

"_Friday. Four Fifteen, PM . . . BEEP . . ._ Hi Giles. It's Buffy. I'm just calling to tell you that you seriously need to talk to your nephew. He's been avoiding Angel's calls for, like, the whole week and it's getting majorly annoying. Tell him to call Angel right now or I'm gonna go over there and kick him in the nuts, okay? Thanks, Giles. Bye!"

-

"_Friday. Five Forty-Eight, PM . . . BEEP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CLICK"_

-

"_Friday. Five Fifty-Two, PM . . . BEEP . . . _Hey Spike. It's Xander. I just wanted to tell you that I'm not gonna be at the Bronze tonight. You know, as if you care. Oh and Buffy just called me to complain about you for, like, an entire hour. Apparently your going all avoid-y with her boyfriend is seriously cutting into her snuggle-time and so she's pretty pissed off. Could you please just call the guy so that I don't have to listen to her anymore? You don't have to talk to him. Just pick up the phone, dial the number, insult him, and hang up if you want. I honestly don't care what you do, just please do _something_, okay? Thanks. See you tomorrow."

--

**Saturday**

"Do you think I should call again?"

Buffy looked over at Angel to find him staring at the phone. "Call who?"

"Spike."

Buffy frowned. "He hasn't called you back yet?"

"No," Angel frowned in frustration, "And I _know_ he's gotten my messages too."

"He should have. You certainly left him enough."

"I know," Angel said, and finally turned his attention to Buffy as he sat back in his seat on the threadbare couch. "And I don't get it. Whenever Will got angry, he would always confront the person immediately to start a fight. This is completely out of character for him."

Buffy shrugged. "You said yourself that he's changed since you've seen him."

"I guess . . ." Angel trailed off doubtfully.

Trying to think of something better to say, an idea came to her and she nudged Angel in the side to get his attention. "I know," she said, "Let's go to the Bronze. Spike and Xander go there every Saturday to play pool. He shouldn't be able to avoid you there."

Angel still looked doubtful, but was willing to try whatever it took to get his questions answered. "If you say so."

"Trust me. It's gonna work."

--

TBC?


	11. Ch 9: We Used to Be Friends

-

Chapter #9: We Used To Be Friends

-

Angel entered the crowded Bronze, Buffy at his side, a few hours after making the decision to hunt Spike down. Admittedly somewhat nervous about the confrontation, he scanned the crowd for Will's rather distinctive hair and found him seated at a table close to the dance floor, drinks in hand, with Buffy's dark-haired friend.

What was that kid's name again? Lander? Xander?

Yeah, that sounded right.

"Do you see them?" Buffy asked, standing on her tip-toes and straining to see over the crowd.

"Yeah. They're right over there." He pointed briefly in the direction of Spike and Xander's seat, knowing she was too short to actually see. Taking her hand, he began to lead Buffy through the crowd, using his height and solid bulk to make a path.

Meanwhile, at the table, Xander turned to Spike, trying to explain. "I'm just _saying_ that—

"I didn't ask fer yer opinion," Spike sneered.

"I know," Xander said, obviously straining to stay calm and patient, "This one's for free. You like free things, remember?"

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not patronizing you."

"I think I can tell when I'm being bloody patronized or not."

"Well this time," Xander began irritably, starting to lose his battle with patience, "you've—

"Xander! Hi!"

Xander jumped in surprise as the sudden interruption and turned to find Buffy walking up to their table, waving at him cheerfully from behind that Angel guy. "Buffy?" he asked, somewhat surprised to find her there, "What are you doing here?" He'd thought she'd said she was going to be somewhere else that night.

"Me and Angel were bored and thought we'd come visit you guys," she said, letting go of Angel's hand and sliding into the only empty chair at the table. Angel stayed standing, hovering behind Buffy's seat almost nervously.

Spike glared at Buffy. Obviously the bitch had planned this. "I s'pose that's my cue to leave, then," he said angrily and stood up to leave.

"No! Wait!" Angel reached out without thinking and grabbed Spike's arm.

Spike immediately yanked his arm out of Angel's grip. "Don't touch me," he snarled, glaring. Then, turning around, he shoved past a group of teenagers and stalked off in the direction of the door.

Watching this, Angel turned to Buffy, unsure of what to do. Should he follow?

Buffy made little shoo-shoo motions with her hands. Nodding in understanding, Angel gave her a thankful look before taking off after Spike's retreating form. Losing sight of Spike easily in the crowds, Angel got out the door and looked this way and that. Catching sight of a bright blond head connected to a black leather jacket moving quickly down the street, he followed.

"Will," Angel called when he got within voice range.

Spike felt his muscles tense at the sound of that voice, but tried to ignore it. He kept on walking.

"Will, come on," Angel said, hurrying to catch up, "This isn't like you."

And what did _he_ know about what he was like? Spike scowled at the thought and didn't look back, actually speeding up his pace. He didn't want to face Angel right then and Angel was making that impossible. Couldn't he just bloody leave him the hell alone?

Angel sighed and sped up again, his longer legs easily eating up the new space between the two of them. Soon he was right on Spike's tail. "Will," he started, "I—

"Spike," Spike interrupted, too annoyed to let it go.

Angel blinked, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Spike," Spike repeated irritably and grit his teeth, angry that he had to repeat himself. "Th' name's _Spike_."

"Fine. Spike," Angel said, almost tempted to roll his eyes childishly at Spike's insistence on what Angel thought was such a stupid name, "I just wanted to ask you something. It'll only take a minute."

Spike kept his attention face forward. "I'm not answering y' anything."

"I just wanted to ask about Drusilla and Darla."

"I said," Spike said more forcibly, "I'm not answering y' anything."

But Angel persisted. "I just wanted to know where they are."

"Look," getting more and more annoyed and wanting Angel to leave him the hell alone, Spike abruptly stopped and turned around to get in Angel's face. "I don't know who y' think y' are, but I'm running out of patience here. Fuck off."

Angel looked at him. "Will . . ."

"I mean it," Spike said, "Fuck off."

"Just answer my question and I'll leave."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "How 'bout I don't an' y' leave before I put my fist in yer face."

"Wi—

"The name's _Spike_."

"Spike," Angel corrected himself, "It's just one simple question."

Spike stared at him stonily, uncompromising. "Yer running out of time."

Angel looked back at him, exasperated and a little hurt. "Why won't you just answer me?"

"I think we both know th' answer t' that."

Angel paused as he took that in. "Oh," he said and Spike could see the dawning comprehension on Angel's face. About time. "This is about that."

"Yeah," Spike nodded, "That."

"Will," Angel started earnestly, _still_ not getting Spike's name right, "you know that if I could've done anything to help I would've. You know that."

Spike was unimpressed. "So y' left instead."

"I had to," Angel tried to explain, "After Penn, I—

"Right. After Penn," Spike cut in, looking disgusted. "Things were just so _hard_ for you."

"Will . . ." Angel tried, but Spike was on a roll.

"Well wot about _us_?" Spike asked angrily, "Wot about me and Dru? You know Dru can't function without her _Daddy_," giving that last word a nasty twist.

Angel looked at him somberly. "I did what I had to do."

"Is that wot y' tell yerself so y' can sleep at night?" Spike sneered.

"It's the truth."

Spike snorted. He didn't believe that. "Yer nothing but a coward," and, to him, that was that. Right now, he just wanted to get away. He was too disgusted to pick a fight right then. He didn't want to even touch him.

Angel sighed and watched as Spike left. He wasn't going to get anything out of Spike when he was like this. As it was, that had actually gone a lot better than he had thought it would. Not one punch had been thrown.

Of course, that just made Angel all the more anxious for his question to be answered.

What had happened to make Spike react like that? To run away in disgust instead of using his fists? That just wasn't like him. It couldn't be just anger at Angel's disappearance. Something else must have happened.

And what had happened to Drusilla and Darla?

Angel would just have to find out some other way.

--

Back in the Bronze, Buffy and Xander still sat at the table and watched as Angel rushed off after Spike.

"So what do you think that was all about?" Xander asked, watching as Angel's head disappeared into the crowd.

"Oh, you know," Buffy said casually, "It's this whole big thing they have."

"Yeah?" Xander asked, looking over at her curiously. It sounded like she had some information. "Spike won't tell me anything."

"Angel only told me a little bit," Buffy confessed, "but I can take a few guesses about what really happened."

"Yeah? What?"

"Well, apparently, the two of them were in some kind of gang together back when Angel still lived in England."

"A gang?" Xander asked incredulously. Spike he could see, but Angel? He didn't really know the guy, but still, it was a weird thought.

Buffy shrugged. "That's what he called it."

"Angel just doesn't really come off as the street trash type."

"At least not next to Spike," Buffy said. "And, actually, according to Angel, _Spike_ used to be the cultured one. The "prude" of the group, even."

"Spike?" Xander asked, even more incredulous, "But he's a complete man-whore."

"That's what _I_ said," Buffy said, glad that someone agreed with her, "But no. Apparently he used to be this innocent little school boy, with the nice clothes and schoolbooks and everything. He was just dragged into the gang because one of the girls had a crush on him or something."

Xander shook his head. "Weird."

"Yeah."

"So Angel's not an old boyfriend then?"

Buffy shrugged again. "Not that I can tell, but who really knows. I just know that something bad happened that Angel won't tell me about and the two of them went their different ways. I think Spike did something to piss Angel off and the two of them just couldn't stand looking at each other anymore."

"That wouldn't really make sense though," Xander said, "Spike's the one that keeps avoiding Angel. Wouldn't it be the other way around if Spike did something?"

"I guess," Buffy allowed, "But what could Angel have done that was so bad?"

"Maybe Anya was right. Maybe he did sleep with Spike's girlfriend."

"Maybe," Buffy said reluctantly, tapping her fingers against the wood of the table. She didn't really want to think about Angel doing anything wrong, his admitted rough past aside. She looked up, finding another topic to talk about. "Hey, have you seen Willow recently? She's never around anymore."

Xander shrugged. "I think she's been busy with this whole big thing for Tara. It's their anniversary or something. Or maybe it's some Wicca thing. I don't really know. Willow was talking all this stuff about string and something about red pillows and I kinda zoned out there for a bit. It was all too complicated for my small brain to comprehend."

--

Spike went immediately to Willy's Bar. He needed beer and some time to get away from everything.

This week had only gone from bad to worse. First learning that Angel was in town, then having to suffer through his uncle's bumbling and unwanted attempts to reestablish their old family bonds, and then having to listen to Angel call again and again, apparently not able to get that Spike didn't want to hear a word he had to say. Spike knew that he had been unwarrantedly short with Harris that night but he didn't care. This week had stretched his nerves too thin and he was going to snap soon. That last confrontation with Angel had been the last straw. He needed a break.

It didn't help that he was being forced to act so responsible and mature, either. Going to work on time, being all neat and respectable-like, it was nauseating how good he'd been lately.

At first, it had been okay. It was all for Dru, after all. But now . . . Now when he was under this much pressure from all around? He couldn't do it.

Sure there'd been that one night he had been able to cut loose a little after he had learned of Angel's continued existence in this godawful town, but that had been it. He was used to non-stop parties and drinks, wild nights on the town, not this _Leave it to Beaver-_type living. It was unnatural. He actually got up before noon.

But he needed the money. And he needed to be respectable. One more mark against him in the police records and everything would be over.

His drink appearing in front of him, Spike tossed it back and motioned for another one.

Angel wouldn't give up. He knew that. He'd keep at it until he got some answers, maybe even until Spike forgave him if he saw it necessary. Which he would. He was like that.

And Spike couldn't deal with that. After what Angel had done to him and Dru? Far as Spike cared, the wanker could rot in hell. No way was he forgiving him. And that meant that he would have to deal with Angel constantly after him.

Maybe he should leave town after all.

--

TBC?


	12. Interlude 2: The Early Days

Interlude: The Early Days

-

June 24, 1991—six months later

-

Father wasn't a cruel man. William would have to give him that one. But he was a cold man. Always locked up in his office, he was a perfectionist and a workaholic, an arrogant, demanding, and anal-retentive wanker who was almost obsessively tidy and punctual. Just everything about him was irritating.

Ever since his mother's death, the two of them had been in a battle of wills. William would do something Father considered annoying or illicit and Father would impose a new rule. William would find new ways of getting around or ignoring said rule and Father would impose yet another rule. It was an unending cycle and things kept getting worse.

William just couldn't bow down and let his father win even once. He always had to have a smart comeback, always had to have some plan to thwart his father's punishments. It was just what he had to do. He couldn't let Father think he'd won, now could he?

This had the unfortunate result, though, of William having to spend a lot of his time grounded and alone, sometimes even in pain when his father decided to use the belt. He would come home from boarding school during the winter and summer breaks only to be left alone in the mansion for days on end with his only human contact being the hired help. Father was always off on business trips or locked up in his office. Not that William would actually spend time with the old bastard even if he was available.

And it was always the same. Whether because he was being punished yet again for being "disorderly" at school or because Father was just an anal-retentive bastard, William was always strictly prohibited from going outside any further than their grounds, which, while big, held nothing of any interest to him anymore.

When he had been little, the garden and surrounding woods had been his play place. He had explored them for hours, pretending he was a famous explorer on an expedition to Africa or some out of the way Amazon rainforest. Now that he was older though, these games held were too childish for him and so the backyard was useless.

And where he could usually escape into his books, he couldn't any more. By 13 he'd basically read everything he could get his hands on and the novelty was beginning to wear off. Now that he was 14, he wanted to be able to see the places described in those books, to go on adventures and have actual friends that would stick by him through thick or thin. He wanted freedom. But instead he was cooped up in the house all day, left to rot in extreme boredom.

So every time he could he would sneak out of the house and make his way into the heart of London where things were actually interesting. Father's rules would still be there when he got back, and he would probably be punished yet again, but he didn't really care. What was one more punishment? Being in London was worth it. The people, the noise, the disorder, the shops and entertainment – he loved it. This was freedom.

Smiling and at peace, William looked up at the early evening sun, just beginning its descent. The sky lightly clouded and the air warm but not too warm, it had been the perfect day. Peaceful and without complications.

Sneaking out of the house and into London early that day, William had spent the morning people-watching in Hyde Park, grabbing some lunch from one of the street vendors and then going to a movie he had been wanting to see later on in the day. He was just walking out of the theatre now and thinking about going home.

He didn't want the day to end, really. But he needed to get back home before he was called for dinner and Father could realize he was gone. Dinnertime may have been a frustratingly silent and formal affair but it was one that Father took very seriously. And, while William may have not cared about the rules all that much, there was really no reason why he should have to sit and listen to his father lecture when he could easily avoid it.

Steadily pushing his way through the crowds of rush-hour pedestrian traffic, everyone trying to come home from work, William tried to avoid stepping on anyone's feet as he made his way to the nearest metro. The crowds getting too annoying, he decided to cut through a nearby alleyway.

"Naughty, naughty, Ms. Edith. You shouldn't say such things."

Just entering the alley, William looked over and found a girl, with long dark hair and about his age, seated not a few feet away on the dirty pavement. Her face smudged with dirt and her clothes wrinkled and somewhat ragged, from what he could see she was still rather pretty and looked almost childish as she talked to the tattered doll she held in her hand.

"You need to be punished," she told the doll and William smiled at the picture of this girl talking to her doll so seriously.

"What?" She appeared to be listening to the doll closely. After a moment, she looked up and over at him, her eyes catching his.

Seeing this, William tried to smile and gave her a little wave, embarrassed to have been caught watching. "S - Sorry," he said and could feel his face heating up a little. He still wasn't over his shyness around strangers, especially girls. "I didn't mean to intrude."

The girl merely tilted her head childishly and looked curious, apparently not at all bothered. "Are you a prince?"

William stopped and blinked, not having expected that to be his answer. "I'm – I'm sorry?" he asked, confused.

Climbing to her feet, the girl approached him, swaying as she walked. Coming up rather close to him, she grabbed his arm, maybe to steady herself, and looked him in the eyes. She had really pretty eyes he couldn't help but notice.

"You're like Daddy," she said after a moment, looking at him in wonder.

William blinked again, drawing back a little. She was getting really into his personal space. "P - pardon me?" he asked. Like Daddy? That didn't sound . . . right.

"But Daddy doesn't bleed," she said and stepped in even closer, looking down at his chest hungrily. "Your heart drips red and falls to the floor."

"Um . . ." William trailed off, not sure how to answer a statement like that. What exactly did that mean? It was a little creepy. Finally he just said, somewhat hesitantly, "Okay . . .?"

"Will you take care of me?" she asked, innocent again, tilting her head at him childishly.

"I . . . I, ah . . . sure," William said hesitatingly, confused but willing to go along with it. He needed to get going and if agreeing was what it took to get her off of him, then he'd do it. "That is, if you want me to."

The girl smiled and swayed in place, leaning even closer. "My name's Drusilla," she whispered as though it were some type of secret.

William smiled in return, somewhat nervously. "Mine's William. Hello."

--

TBC?


	13. Ch 10: Running Away

-

Chapter #10: Running Away

-

Spike woke the next morning feeling like shit. His head was throbbing in time and something had crawled into his mouth and died. "Fuck," he cursed miserably and rolled over onto his back, holding his head.

What happened last night?

Forcing himself to think even though it hurt, Spike backtracked through the night. He knew he'd gone to the bar, obviously, but what had happened before that?

And then he knew. Angel.

His bad moods always went back to Angel it seemed. The wanker.

They'd had an argument and he'd gone running off into the night. Wonderful. What was he going to do about that?

Angel wouldn't stop bothering him. Spike had no delusions of him doing anything but hounding him day and night until he had his answers. Answers that Spike didn't really want to give. He couldn't give a fuck about Darla but with Dru things got personal. Angel didn't _deserve_ to know about Dru.

And besides, Angel obviously hadn't cared when he'd abandoned them almost four years ago. Why the fuck was he suddenly so concerned now?

He'd have to do something about this. But what?

The only thing he could think to do was leave. Just leave town altogether and forget about it.

Nothing he hadn't thought of before, but this time it seemed almost a necessary thing.

And, really, so what if it was running away? He was bloody sick of this town and he'd never been very good at dealing with things he didn't like.

This had been a bad idea from the start. What had he been thinking, thinking that he could deal with small town life and his family at the same time? He was a fucking moron.

He didn't actually care anymore that he probably wouldn't have enough money for both Dru and himself. It should be awhile before he would actually have to pay again and until then he could always sleep in his car. Not like he hadn't done it before. It would just be a little harder this time.

Or a lot harder. If he did this, Spike didn't expect to eat a lot in the next few months. And he'd have to take on a lot more jobs.

But out there didn't have Angel and that settled it. As soon as his headache became manageable he'd be out the door.

Groaning, Spike pulled himself up and sat at the edge of the bed. Putting his head in his hands as his head protested the movement.

Giles was probably downstairs. It was Sunday so he wouldn't be at his little shop and it'd be only polite to stop in and say goodbye. Thank him for letting him crash at his place for so long.

But then since when was Spike polite? Giles could figure out for himself that Spike was gone.

And his boss. Did he really want to have to call the git and let him know he'd be leaving? Not really.

But Harris . . . . Here Spike paused and really thought about it. Did he want to tell Xander he was leaving?

The kid had been alright. Had actually been the one thing tolerable in this town. There was that caring thing happening.. Spike was actually fond of him and he wasn't fond of many people.

So yeah. He'd tell him. As soon as he got some aspirin.

--

He hadn't had to worry about accidentally bumping into Giles on his way out. He'd come out of his room with no Giles in sight. And from there it had been easy to just grab his bag and go.

Now he stood at the door of Xander's crap one bedroom apartment, his one bag packed and ready on his shoulder, waiting for the boy to answer the door.

Cautiously inching the door open, Xander peeked through the crack to see who was outside. He wasn't expecting anyone, but Willow sometimes stopped by to make sure he was still eating and alive. Seeing Spike, Xander blinked in surprise. "Spike."

Spike nodded. "Harris."

Stepping back, Xander opened the door the rest of the way. "What are you doing here?" It wasn't exactly like him to just drop by.

"Jus' came t' tell y' that I'm leavin'."

At first, the words didn't register, Xander staring blankly as he tried to understand why Spike would come all the way down there to tell him that. "Leaving . . ." Then the words hit and Xander's eyes widened. "Leaving? Like, _leaving_ leaving? Leaving Sunnydale?"

Spike nodded again, adjusting his grip on the bag on his shoulder. "Jus' thought I'd let y' know." And he made to leave.

Xander grabbed his arm before he could take a step, turning Spike back around. "But . . . but you just _got_ here."

Spike looked at him, raising a scarred brow. "I've been 'ere fer two months, whelp. It's time t' move on."

"But what about that whole saving money thing?" Xander asked, desperate and confused. He _really_ didn't want Spike to leave and this made no sense. Why would he want to leave _now_? "Won't this, like, seriously mess with that?"

Spike frowned at him, as though he were stupid to ask. "I can make it up again."

Xander narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Which is why you were so willing to leave before, right?" both knowing that Spike hadn't even seriously thought of leaving before this week. He'd complained enough, but he hadn't actually made serious plans. "Admit it, you hate this town, but you weren't thinking of leaving before that Angel guy showed up. This is really about him, isn't it?"

Spike's expression was disinterested and vaguely scornful as he lied, "No."

"It is!" Xander said, "He said something last night, didn't he?"

"Don't know what yer talkin' about."

"Last night. You know, when Angel followed you outside of the Bronze," Xander reminded him. "Something happened then, didn't it?"

"No." And that wasn't even a lie. Nothing really happened. Angel tried to get him to talk and Spike walked away.

"C'mon," Xander said, "You can tell me. What'd he say? I wanna get in on the Angel-hate too."

Spike rolled his eyes and improvised, just to get the boy to shut up. "He said that he's a poof who spends way too much time on his hair and that he's sorry fer being such a ponced up bugger."

"Alright," Xander nodded agreeably, "Now tell me what he really said."

Not amused, Spike looked at him. "Harris . . ."

"Look. I'm just saying, that if what he said was bad enough to make you want to leave town altogether and run away, I wanna know what it is."

Spike was beginning to regret coming here. "This isn't about what he said."

"It's about what he did," Xander guessed, and then looked around. They were still standing in his doorway, talking where anyone could come along and see. "Look, maybe this isn't such a great place to have this conversation. Some of my neighbors can be pretty nosy."

"Good," Spike said, "'Cos I'm not _having _this conversation. I'm leaving." And he made to leave for the second time.

"Spike!" Xander protested, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Spike's duster.

Spike immediately shook him off, turning around with a glare. "Harris, leave it. I'm leaving."

"No. You're running away," Xander corrected. "This Angel has you scared and you're running away with your tail tucked between your legs."

Spike's face hardened. "I'm making a strategic retreat."

Hearing this, Xander looked incredulous. "Strategic? What's strategic about it? You'll have no money. No food. You'll sleep in your car and live off of Fritos."

Spike opened his mouth to try to say something but then closed it when nothing came to mind and clenched his jaw irritably. It was true.

"Spike, I thought you hated this guy. Do you really want to let him do that to you? Do you really want to give him that much power?"

Spike stayed quiet, jaw clenched, and let that run through his mind. Was that really what he was doing?

Yes.

The realization came in a flash of clarity and Spike closed his eyes and let the anger rush through him. His hands curled and uncurled into fists at his sides.

Now he _couldn't_ leave. Not knowing that that would be admitting that Angel had power over him. Which he didn't, but the thought would be there.

Fuck. And he'd really wanted to leave, too. It would've been so much easier.

Now he had to stay in Sunnydale and actually deal with Angel and his uncle and his boredom and his crappy 9-5 job.

Suddenly Spike was tired.

Noticing this, Xander gentled and stepped back. "Do you wanna come in? I think I still have some beer left over from the last time you were here."

Still saying nothing, Spike nodded and entered.

--

Throwing his bag on the floor, Spike sank down onto the couch and put his head in his hands.

Xander went to the kitchen and grabbed one of the beers that he kept out of the fridge just for Spike. Walking back out into the living room, he nudged Spike's hand with it. "Here."

Looking up at his voice, Spike grabbed the bottle, twisted off the top, and chugged it.

Xander raised his brow in surprise. He hadn't thought Spike had been that upset. "Want another?" he asked.

"Might."

The second bottle Spike took a little slower, nursing it, and Xander sat down on the floor, leaning against the couch. Not sure if he should say anything, he looked up at Spike. "Do you want to talk about it?" Did guys ask each other that? He'd had so few guy friends.

"No." Spike stared at the bottle, his expression dark and closed off.

"Alright," Xander said, nodding agreeably, somewhat thankful that they wouldn't have to get into some deep emotional conversation but still a little worried for the guy. He didn't look good.

Reaching for the remote in lieu of anything else to do, he turned on the TV and began to flip through the channels. "Animal Planet?" he asked, stopping on the channel for a brief moment and watched as the camera followed a young cub. Boring. He shook his head. "Nah, that's only funny when you're drunk," changing the channel, "How about Law and Order? That's always on," searching through the stations.

Spike grunted, agreeing or not, Xander didn't really know, and the two of them lapsed into silence, Xander actually watching the TV, waiting for Spike to say something, and Spike stuck in his own misery.

"I think I hate y' right now," Spike finally said, deceptively mild and still staring at his bottle. A whole sentence.

Not expecting the silence to be broken just yet, Xander looked up at Spike, a little confused. "What?"

Spike ignored him. "Why couldn't y' have jus' let me leave? I could'a been on my way out o' here by now."

"You would've regretted it."

Turning to him for the first time, Spike gave him a narrow look. "I would've been fuckin' ecstatic."

"Trust me," Xander said, "When you got out there and realized what you'd done, you would've wished you'd stayed."

"An' jus' wot would I have been be so bloody sad about?" Spike asked skeptically, "That kiddie club? The 24 hr. laundromat? There's fuck all t' do in this bloody town."

In answer, Xander just smiled and sat back, looking a little smug. "Admit it. You would've missed us."

Spike snorted derisively and turned back to his bottle "Not bloody likely," he said and took a drink.

"Oh come on," Xander said, smiling in amusement, "Where else can you get graphic complaints about the lack of orgasms and become a test subject in bizarre magical experiments?"

"Who said I _wanted_ that?"

"You know you love it."

Again, Spike snorted and took a drink.

"And besides," Xander said, turning serious, "You have Giles here."

Unable to believe Xander had actually just said that, Spike looked over at him.

"He could be good for you," Xander added, seeing his disbelief.

"Right," Spike sneered, "I think I know wot's good fer me." Didn't always mean he went for it, but he knew. He wasn't stupid.

Xander rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat. "Oh c'mon, don't tell me you really never want to see him again. He's your uncle."

"An' y' always want t' see _yer_ uncle?"

"Well, no," Xander allowed, "But I think my Uncle Rory is a special case. Giles doesn't get drunk and set the kitchen on fire." Then Xander frowned as a thought came, "At least I don't think he does." Because really, who knows _what_ Giles got into during those lost weekends after he lost his job. He could've done any number of stupid things and just covered it up.

Great. This would bother him for a while.

"No," Spike agreed, looking away, "He jus' does stupid shit of a completely different kind." He took a long drain of the bottle and finished the beer. Standing up, he went into the kitchen to grab another one.

Following him with his eyes, Xander watched as Spike began to rifle through the fridge. There must be no more warm beers. "Giles is a good guy. I'd love it if he was my uncle."

"Then y' can 'ave 'im." Turning around with another beer in hand, Spike popped the top and took a long drink.

"I wish." Xander knew that they were really just avoiding the real issue here, which was Angel, but he didn't know how to broach the topic without seeming too pushy.

Spike came back to the couch to sit down and actually seemed to be watching what was on the TV. He looked much better now. Where before his expression had been dark and closed off, now he seemed almost relaxed. And Xander hated to ruin that but figured he had to.

"Why are you so against being in the same town as Angel?'

Spike immediately tensed at the sound of Angel's name and didn't look over at him. "I don't want t' talk about it."

Xander frowned. "But you won't be running off on your own anymore, will you?"

Spike scowled, expression darkening as his grip on his beer tightened. "No," he muttered lowly.

And that was really all he could ask for. Xander nodded. "Good."

--

TBC


	14. Ch 11: Tired

-

Chapter #11: Tired

-

So he didn't leave after all. Fine. Spike didn't care. He'd just have to deal with things the best way he could, by being a right bastard to everyone around him. Maybe throw his frustrations into sex since he couldn't fight. He'd survive.

He hoped.

After a while, just sitting with the boy and watching the telly, Spike had finally gotten up enough energy to get on with life. So he'd grabbed his bag and gotten started, heading back to his uncle's place. Unpacking and deciding that maybe a smoke would do him some good. His fingers felt twitchy and he was stressed out.

Sitting on the front step, Spike leaned forward and brought his fag to his lips. Slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke.

No one else was out that he could see and everything was quiet and still. A car drove past and for a second Spike could hear the faint sound of the radio. Some strange Indies song.

This was better. Just him and his smokes. Letting everything else just melt away for a few moments.

It wasn't nearly as effective or as fun as getting pissed or as a good shag, but it was something and that was all that mattered. He could almost forget what had nearly driven him out of town that morning. Almost.

It was hard to do when the reason kept insisting on bothering him.

"Spike."

Spike closed his eyes and let out a smoky, pain-filled sigh. Then looked up, resigned. "Wot?" he snapped. Couldn't he get through _one_ day without this wanker showing up somehow?

Angel didn't say anything, simply staring at him, all broody and depressed looking. Spike felt himself getting angrier at the sight. What did Angel have to be so bloody depressed about? His life was going just peachy.

Finally the git sighed and looked down. "Look . . . I know you don't want to talk to me—

Spike snorted at the understatement and ashed into the plants to his side, holding himself tense. "Wot was yer first clue?"

Angel tried a small smile. "Well the running away was a good sign, but I think it was the 'Fuck off' that really made it clear."

Right. Spike rolled his eyes and looked away, taking another drag from his smoke. At least something he'd said last night had gotten through the bastard's thick skull.

And Angel got back to the point. "But my point is that I really do just want to talk. I just want to know if the girls are okay."

"Wouldn't think sumthin' like that would matter t' you," Spike muttered, voice deceptively mild, and lifted his smoke to his mouth once more.

Angel flinched a bit and, seeing it from the corner of his eye, Spike smirked.

"Will . . ." Angel said, sounding pained, and Spike's smirk vanished as he turned back to Angel.

"Th' name's Spike."

"Yeah, and why is that?" Angel asked, momentarily side-tracked by his genuine curiosity. "Why _Spike_? It's so . . . not you."

"Oh," Spike said, eyes narrowing in anger, fag in hand getting close to the filter. He ashed off to the side again. "An' I s'pose y' know me now?"

"Well . . . ." Angel started, looking hesitant. And if he said 'yes' Spike was going to rip his entrails out through his nostrils, "No," Angel finally said, "No . . . I was just . . ." he stopped, looking helpless, "You've changed."

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Spike arched a brow. Yeah, and?

"_I've _changed," Angel continued, gazing at him imploringly, and Spike had an idea of where this was going to go, "And if you'll just give me a chance, I can—

Spike stopped him right there, holding up his smoke. "I think y've had enough chances."

"I've only had the one. Most people get at least two."

"Yeah, well yer not most people, now are you? That's wot y've always said anyways, innit?" Spike's eyes dared him to challenge that even as he ashed off to the side again.

Angel couldn't. So he ignored it altogether. "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

Spike stared at him, unable to believe he had just said that. "No," he said baldly, "It wouldn't help at all." And, standing up and flicking his used smoke off into the plants, he turned and went inside the house.

--

Monday night, the day after Spike had almost run away, and Xander walked through his front door, relieved to finally be home. He hated his newest job—a grunt worker for Joe's Pizza, a local pizza place that was out of the way and barely known. The boss was mean, the pay was bad, and his co-workers were just plain nasty looking. He doubted some of them even knew what a shower was.  
But it had been all he could find. People with his job record just didn't get hired all that often. Employers liked reliable, steady workers with good references. And, needless to say, with the way his luck was going, he didn't have that.

Xander didn't even want to know what he was going to do when he was fired from Joe's.

Because he would be fired. The boss didn't like him and Xander could tell that he was already looking for a way to get rid of him. The slightest mess-up and he was out of there. Which was a lot of pressure to put on a guy and not expect him to fail.

Especially since Xander was such an all around failure. He couldn't do anything right. Couldn't keep a job. Could barely keep an apartment. Couldn't even keep _Anya_ interested in him and all she had wanted was sex.

Guess he wasn't good at that either.

Getting into the shower to wash away the stench of pizza and grease, Xander tried not to get all depressed. It was hard. His life sucked. He couldn't keep a job and even then what jobs he could get all sucked ass. He couldn't keep a girlfriend. He barely saw his friends anymore and even when he did they were distant. Nobody noticed him anymore. Buffy too caught up in Angel and doing the college thing. Willow too caught up in Tara and doing the Wicca thing. Giles too caught up in his shop and his books. Anya too caught up in having as much sex and getting as much money as she possibly could. He didn't know Tara well enough, but he doubted she would have time for him either. The only person he had around anymore was Spike and even _he'd_ been trying to get away.

What was it about him that chased people off? He thought he was a nice enough guy. Did he smell? Was it something he'd said?

God he was pathetic. His only relief was that at least he wasn't living in his parent's basement anymore so he wasn't a complete loser. Of course if his current luck with jobs kept up he might not even have that anymore because he was running out of money fast and he just wasn't making enough to make up for that. Maybe he needed two jobs. Or maybe Spike would teach him how to hustle college kids like Spike had been doing for his own money.

Either way, you knew your life was going down the crapper when all you had to get you through it was a guy who probably didn't even care whether you lived or died. Oh sure, Spike came to tell Xander that he was leaving, but he was still _leaving_.

A thought forming, Xander frowned, letting the water wash away the suds in his hair.

And why _had_ Xander been so desperate to keep Spike in Sunnydale? Because he was all he had?

Contemplative, Xander finally nodded to himself.

Yeah, let's go with that.

--

Tuesday night and Spike and Xander were at the Bronze, relaxing after work.

"I can't pay for your drinks tonight, Spike. I don't care if you win."

"Wot?" Spike frowned, looking up at Xander from across the pool table, "Why not?"

Xander sighed and leaned against his pool cue. "I just really don't have the money to spare." He sounded almost sad about it, which was a first. Spike could count the times Xander had shown a negative emotion on one hand.

Spike's frown deepened. "Then wot am I playin' _you_ for."

Xander was not amused, looking up at him with narrow eyes. "I don't know. My charming company, maybe?"

At this, Spike snorted. But, to his credit, he didn't stop playing, leaning over to carefully line up his next shot. The balls clacked softly as he successfully sunk a shot and moved on to the next. "Wot's got yer panties in a bunch tonight anyways, mate? You haven't relaxed since y' got here."

"Hey, I'm relaxed," Xander protested, looking indignant, "The Xand-man is _always_ relaxed. It's kinda like my thing."

Spike sunk another shot and looked up at him, arching a scarred brow and not saying anything.

"And besides," Xander continued, wanting to turn the attention away from himself, "it's not like you've been the best company either."

"Yeah, but we all know my issues," Spike said maybe overly casually, moving around the table to line up his next shot.

"Not really," Xander said slowly, this last statement seeming weird to him for some reason. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought, and then smirked slyly as it came to him. "Spike. Is this your way of saying that you care?"

Spike looked up, surprised. "Wot? No!"

Xander laughed.

--

The ringing of the telephone brought Giles' attention away from his books. Putting on his glasses, he stood and went for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a women's voice answered, "this is Dr. Carrel with the North Bay Medical Center. Is there a William Mathers around?"

Giles blinked. He didn't know Spike had been giving out his number. "Uh, no. I'm afraid he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"Yes. Tell him I am calling in regards to a Drusilla Green. There's been an incident and I'm afraid we must speak to him as soon as possible."

"Er, yes," Giles said, blinking some more, "Yes, of course."

--

TBC?


	15. Ch 12: Money Problems

Okay, I'll admit it. I need help getting Spike and Xander together. Does anybody have any ideas? I'm not gonna do another chapter until I know how I'm gonna do it. Next chapter, the romance will start, I promise.

--

-

Chapter 12: Money Problems

-

By the time Spike came home that evening Giles had already gone to bed so it wasn't until the next morning that Giles could pass on the woman's message.

Giles looked up from his newspaper at the sound of his nephew making his way into the kitchen. "Good morning."

"Mrnin'," was the grumbled reply. Dressed in his boring work uniform, hair slicked back, but still blinking sleep from his eyes, Spike fell into one of the kitchen seats and stared at the table. He hated mornings. They always seemed so unnatural to him. Who wanted to get up when the sun was still shining? All the fun stuff happened when it got dark.

Giles couldn't help a small, fond smile at the sight. "Did you sleep well?"

"Eh," Spike grunted with a shrug and Giles took that as a 'good enough'.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered.

Tearing his eyes away from the tabletop, Spike narrowed his eyes at Giles in thought, tilting his head as he worked the question through his sleep-fogged mind. Did he? A quick think, or as quick as he could when it was this early, and he shook his head no.

"Then how about some breakfast?" Giles asked. "I made pancakes."

Pancakes? Slowly coming out of his daze, Spike looked around the kitchen, noticing a stack of them over near the stove. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" Standing, he went to get himself a plate. Taking three—he could always go back and get more—he went back to his seat, grabbing the syrup bottle and pouring a generous amount over his food. Giles smiled again and rustled his paper, about ready to go back to his daily routine when he remembered the call last night. "Oh, yes," he said, looking back up, "Before I forget. You had a call last night."

Spike groaned around a mouthful of pancake. There was only one person who would call him here. He swallowed and forced himself to ask, "Wot did that wanker want now?"

"No. No it actually wasn't Angel. It was a woman."

At this, Spike frowned, looking up from his plate. This was new. "Yeah?"

"Yes. She said she was with the . . ." Giles tried to remember, "North Bay Medical Center, I believe." That sounding right, he nodded, not seeing Spike suddenly look much more awake at the name, "Yes. The North Bay Medical Center. I have her name written down here somewhere. Um . . ." Putting his paper to the side, Giles looked around, trying to remember where he had put the name and number. By the phone? "Wait here a moment," he told Spike, meaning to go get the number and come right back.

But Spike wasn't that patient. Seeing Giles get up, Spike got up to follow him out, asking as he went, "Wot did she want?"

"I believe she said there was an incident," Giles replied absently as he reached the phone and began to rifle through the many bits of clutter scattered across the table surface. "She wants you to call her back as soon as possible," and he found the number, "Ah. Here it is." Giles smiled and handed it to his nephew.

Taking it from him, Spike read the short note—really just a name and number—and nodded, reaching for the phone.

Giles frowned. "You're going to call her right now?"

Spike shot him a weird look. "Course." If there had been an incident he needed to know what happened. He could already envision horrible thing after horrible thing happening to his dark princess.

"But what about your breakfast? It'll get cold."

"I'll heat it up later." A clear dismissal.

Hearing it for what it was, Giles nodded but still looked a little concerned. Worried for his nephew. He knew this call was probably important and could only imagine why a hospital would call in the first place, but he wouldn't force his questions and knew Spike would never tell him willingly. "Very well," he simply said and went back into the kitchen to finish his paper.

--

Xander stared at Willow, despairing. Here he'd come to her with his problem—that he was running out of money and soon would have no place to live—and she was barely paying attention to him. She was just kind of staring into the space to the right of his head, not really blinking much. "Um. Hello?" He waved a hand in front of her face. "Remember me? Xander? Your best friend?"

Startled, Willow jumped guiltily. "Oh!" she said and turned to him to apologize, "I'm sorry. I'm just really tired. Me and Tara did this ritual last night and it was _amazing,_" getting sidetracked, "There was this _presence_ and—

"Yeah. Not really caring right now. Remember my problem?"

"Um," Willow stopped talking and began to look guilty. "No?" obviously trying for innocent, "I think I might've zoned out just a little bit. Just a little." Holding up her thumb and index finger to show just how little she meant.

"Willow!" Xander said, exasperated.

"I know! I'm _sorry._ I'll listen now!" Willow settled in on her bed to listen, gesturing for him to start talking. "Come on. Tell me. I wanna know."

Seated in her desk chair, the two of them alone in her dorm bedroom, Xander crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. "Well maybe I don't want to tell you anymore. You should've been listening the first time."

"Xander," Willow chided, "I said I was sorry."

Xander sighed irritably, but relented. "_Fine_," he said, "I _was_ talking about how I was running out of money. You know, for rent and stuff." Getting over his anger, he turned to her seriously and told her, "I haven't eaten a real meal in three days. I've been living off of Cheetos and Dr. Pepper."

Now Willow started to look a little worried. "Xander, that's not good."

"You think I don't know that?" Xander asked defensively, "I'm not gonna have a place to _live,_ Willow," he said with wide eyes, getting frightened as he remembered. "You know that dirty old homeless guy who lives in that cardboard box on Owensmouth? The one that smells like fish?"

Willow looked a little confused, obviously wondering what this had to do with anything. "Yeah . . .?"

"I'm gonna _be_ him."

"Xander," Willow said, getting this look on her face that said she obviously thought him over-exaggerating which he totally wasn't. "It's not gonna be _that_ bad."

"Yes, Willow," Xander said seriously, "Yes it will."

"Well, maybe you can do something to avoid that. Why don't you get a second job?"

"Don't you think I've tried that? _Nobody_ will hire me, Willow," Xander had to repeat that just to make sure she got the seriousness. "_Nobody."_

"Maybe you're just not looking hard enough," Willow suggested.

"Willow!"

"What?" Willow asked, starting to get defensive. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to _fix_ things," Xander said, fisting his hands and leaning forward imploringly, "_Help_ me. Just do _something_. Not tell me that I'm not trying hard enough. I'm working my _ass_ off here. You think I _want_ to starve cold and alone on the streets?"

"We're not gonna let that happen," Willow said seriously, seeming to start to get the seriousness of the situation. For a moment they were silent, Willow thinking and Xander letting her think. Finally she looked up. "What about a loan?"

Xander sighed, leaning back in his chair, and looked down. "I have no credit. No bank would give me a loan" He'd actually already thought of that.

"But what about if you got a loan from someone you know?"

"Like who?" Xander asked, looking back up at her skeptically, "Everyone I know is just as poor as me."

"Not Giles," Willow pointed out.

And Xander wanted to stay far away from that thought. "Oh," Xander said, backing up as far as he could on his chair, "Oh no. There's no way. Don't even think it."

"Why not?" Willow asked, obviously already getting excited about the idea. "It's perfect."

"It's the _G-man_," Xander said. And that really was all he should need to say.

But Willow obviously didn't understand the obvious. "So?"

"So?" Xander repeated back at her, looking at her like she was crazy. "So, it's _Giles_. You can't mooch off of Giles."

Willow rolled her eyes, obviously thinking he was just being difficult. "It wouldn't be mooching. You'd pay him back."

There was one major flaw in that argument. "But what if I can't?"

"Xander," Willow just looked at him, "You'd pay him back," she said simply, as if it were just an obvious fact, "And even if you didn't, do you honestly think he'd care?"

Xander looked her straight on defiantly. "Maybe he would," he said, more just to be difficult than anything else.

"Giles isn't like that," Willow said, shooting him an exasperated look. She probably knew he didn't really believe that either. Willow always could read him like a book. "And, really, we all know that you're practically his son."

And he really wished she hadn't said that. "Willow!" he cried, embarrassed and uncomfortable. He didn't really like to think about his relationship with the older man. He knew something was there, but he refused to acknowledge it. Thinking about it just brought on too many questions and doubts and wishes that were just easier to ignore.

"What?" she asked defensively, "I'm just saying, you know?"

"Yeah, well, you need to quit saying."

"Oh _fine_," Willow obviously thought he was being ridiculous, but still surrendered, "I won't say anything anymore. I'll be good, okay? This is me being good." She settled back into her seat, folding her hands in her lap, and looked to him expectantly.

"Thankyou," Xander said, glad she'd dropped it, "And we can totally forget about asking him for a loan too, okay? 'Cuz I won't do it."

Willow's good-girl face broke as she looked disappointed. "But why not? It's perfect."

Xander stayed stubborn, shaking his head. "I'm just not gonna do it. There's no way."

"But what are you gonna do about the money?"

"I'll find another job," Xander said with a confidence he didn't feel. "I just have to keep trying."

Willow looked at him for a long moment, long enough for Xander to shift uncomfortably under her gaze, before she finally sighed and relented. "Well, okay. It's your life." And that was just a little too easy. Xander hoped she wouldn't do something stupid in an attempt to "help him". Not that Willow did a lot of stupid things, but she'd been known to do all sorts of things in "his best interests" and Xander had learned to be cautious.

He'd have to watch her for a few days just to be sure.

--

If Xander wanted to get a job he needed to throw his pride away and work whatever job was offered. And that was how he found himself in Double-Meat Palace the next day, filling out an application. He'd been putting off this place because of the nightmares he had used to have of working there until the day he died.

But he'd had no luck anywhere else so it was time to suck it up and just do it. Those nightmares were about to become reality and he winced as he put the finishing touches on his application and quickly signed the bottom. Now he just had to actually turn it in.

So he sat there in that small plastic booth and stared at the piece of paper before him. Did he really want to do this? There could be other ways. This wasn't necessarily the only place hiring. Maybe he should wait a while and see if it was really needed.

But maybe this was the only place that would take him. Maybe if he waited the spot would be taken.

Xander bit his lip, caught in indecision. Looking up, he tried to spot the manager, hoping that he was maybe too busy for Xander to bother him, giving Xander a reason to come back some other day. He didn't spot the manager, but he did spot a long leather duster and bright blond head.

"Spike?" he asked nobody disbelievingly. "What's he doing here?" Xander knew for a fact that Spike hated this place. Called it a pit of grease made for fat, balding men with dreams of power.

Xander had to see what this was about. Spike seemed to have just ordered, the cashier disappearing somewhere, and Xander approached quickly. "Spike?" he asked, reaching out to tap him on the shoulder.

Spike jumped, obviously startled, and turned quickly to stare at him. "Harris?" he asked disbelievingly, then backed up a step and looked this way and that as if the rest of the gang was going to jump out of the corners of the restaurant. "Wot're you doing 'ere?" he asked, sounding strangely guarded.

"What am I doing here?" Xander asked, blinking, "What are _you_ doing here? I thought you hated this place."

"Yeah, well," Spike gave a one-shoulder shrug, face going carefully casual, "Mebbe I thought I'd give it a try."

Xander narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Really?" That didn't sound like him.

"Mebbe I did," Spike said, acting maybe a little too defensive before turning the questioning onto Xander. "Wot're you doing 'ere?"

That made Xander step back and stop with the suspicion as he remembered why he was there. He looked down and he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing a little self-consciously. "Heh. Yeah. Could you believe I'm actually filling out an application?"

"Yer— Spike cut himself off quickly and looked away, tapping his fingers against his jeans..

"Yeah," Xander said, tilting his head with a small frown at this curious behavior. "An application. I told about my money problems, didn't I?"

"Y' might've," Spike said shortly then jerked his head in the direction of Xander's table, where he had left the application for all to see. "But why don't I let y' get back t' that?"

Xander's frown deepened. Why did it seem like Spike didn't want him around? "Spike?" he asked.

"Sir?" The cashier's voice came from behind them, apparently having come back sometime while they were talking. Xander turned to the girl curiously, but Spike stubbornly kept his back to her. "Sir?" the girl tried again. "I have your application."

Why did it seem like she was talking to Spike?

Xander turned to Spike and jerked his head in the cashier's direction. "Is she talking to you?"

Spike clenched his jaw and said darkly, "No."

"Sir?" The girl tried one more time.

"No. No. I think she's actually talking to you," Xander said.

"No," Spike said stubbornly, his jaw still clenched. "No, she's not."

"Sir? Don't you need this?"

There was a moment where it didn't seem like Spike would respond, but then he turned. "_Fine_. Yes. Yes. I need it." Spike angrily snatched the paper from the girl's hand then turned and stormed in the direction of the door. Xander hurriedly ran back to his table and grabbed his application before racing out the door after him.

"Dude," Xander said, hurrying to catch up to Spike's long strides. "Dude, you're filling out an application _too_?"

"Yes." Obviously embarrassed and angry, Spike hissed past clenched teeth. "Shut up."

"But that's great! We can miserable _together_!"

Spike stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then another as he tried to calm himself. "I don't _want_ t' be miserable t'gether," he finally said, obviously straining to be calm, "I don't want anythin' t' _do_ with that hell-hole."

Xander looked curious. "Then why are you applying? I mean, it's not like you actually need the money. You get more than enough of that from the pool tables."

In an obvious attempt to get some time, Spike began to search through his pockets, looking for his smokes. Finally finding them, he pulled his cigarettes out of a duster pocket, slipping one out and lighting up. Not looking at Xander, he muttered lowly. "Sumthin' came up."

"Oh," Xander said, nodding his understanding, and then looked both ways to make sure no one was around close enough to hear. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the Double-Meat Palace, with two or three cars in the Drive-Thru, but no one was around. Still, he leaned in closer to ask. "Did they up the price?"

Spike turned to him, obviously surprised. "How did you—" He took the cigarette out of his mouth and started again. "How did you know?"

Xander shrugged slightly, leaning back. "Well, it was kind of obvious. You know with you needing so much money and all."

"Obvi— Spike cut himself off, taking a nervous drag of his smoke. Then, face hardening in resolve, Spike reached over with his free hand and dragged Xander closer. "Who else knows?"

"Well, Buffy," Xander started, a little uncomfortable with Spike's closeness, "It was her idea. But then me and Willow too. And then I guess there's Tara and probably Anya. And Giles. And Buffy's sister."

"So, yer sayin' basically everybody."

"Um," Xander scratched his head and stared at the ground, still uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"Right." Spike let him go, taking another drag of his smoke as he looked off into the distance. Then he turned to Xander again with narrow eyes. "And _wot_ exactly do y' think y' know."

"Well, it's the drug dealers, right? You're in debt and if you don't pay a certain amount of money by a certain time, they're gonna break your legs."

Spike stared at him for a long moment and Xander shifted under that gaze, starting to get the idea that maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Finally Spike spoke, "Y' lot think I'm in debt t' some _drug dealers_?" No mistaking the disbelief in his voice.

"Is that not right?" Xander asked as he looked up, voice small.

Spike looked like he couldn't believe it. "How stupid do y' lot think I am?"

"Well, what were we supposed to think?" Xander asked defensively. "A guy needs money and won't tell anybody why. The automatic thought is always drug dealers."

Suddenly a lot more relaxed, Spike snorted and turned away. "Mebbe yers."

"Well why else would you be so secretive about it?" Xander asked, "I mean, what else could be such a big deal?"

"That's none of yer damn business," Spike said, glaring at him.

And Xander knew that. He shrugged. "Doesn't mean we can't wonder. There's no harm in that."

--

TBC?


End file.
